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The  Younir  Goethe  at  SesenJmm 

Photogravure  from  the  paintinR  by  Urockmann. 


Hife  of  (§otii)t 


BY 


George  Henry  Lewes 


In  Two  Volumes 
Volume  I. 


Edited  bv  Nathan  Haskell  Dole 


Boston    ^    Francis    A.    Niccolls 


cj 


C7 


Company     "^     Publishers 


ISnition  ©f  (Sranti  !Luxc 

This  Edition  is  Limited  to   Two  Hundred  and  Fifty 
Copies,  of  which  this  is  copy 

Ko,..5.4 


Copyright,  tgo2 
By  Francis  A.  Niccolls  &  Co. 


Solonijl  iilrcss 

ElBCtrctyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  SImonda  &  Co. 

Boston.  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


SRLF 
URL 

PT 
Preface   to   the   Third   Edition 

Since  the  last  edition  of  this  work  was  published, 
many  volumes  have  appeared  which  it  was  necessary 
for  me  to  go  through,  and  from  which  I  have  gathered 
numerous  fresh  details  of  interest,  though  nothing  that 
alters  the  main  outhnes  of  my  narrative. 

Among  the  new  works  there  have  been  two  regular 
biographies.  The  one  by  M.  M^zieres,  entitled  "  W. 
Goethe,  Ses  ceuvres  expli([uees  par  sa  vie"  (2  vols. 
Paris,  1872-3),  is  a  barefaced  reproduction  of  my 
work,  with  little  added  except  the  writer's  own  re- 
marks, and  an  occasional  extract  from  some  French 
book.  Yet  while  thus  appropriating  my  labours, 
M.  M^zi^res  abstains  from  even  the  slightest  indica- 
tion of  his  indebtedness.  When  he  borrows  a  passage 
from  a  French  writer  he  is  careful  to  avow  it;  he 
borrows  my  whole  book,  and  ignores  it.  The  only 
time  he  refers  to  me,  is  in  a  note  on  the  Weimar 
theatricals.  Nay,  so  careful  is  he  to  avoid  acknowl- 
edgment, that  having  in  one  place  to  put  forward 
a  somewhat  different  view  of  the  Frau  von  Stein  from 
that  which  he  finds  in  my  pages,  he  attributes  the 
opinion  he  combats  to  Carlyle,  who  has  never  printed 
a  hue  on  the  subject.  Yet  it  is  on  the  strength  of 
such  performances  that  M.  M6zieres  presents  himself 
as  a  candidate  for  a  seat  in  the  French  Academy  —  and 
is  admitted. 

Very  different  is  the  other  biography,  "  Goetlie's 
Leben  und  Schriften,  von  Karl  Gddeke  "  (1  vol.  1874), 
a  compact  compilation  by  one  thoroughly  conversant 
with  the  original  sources. 

The  Priory,  A  ugust,  1875. 

vii 


Preface   to   the   Second    Edition 

There  was,  perhaps,  some  temerity  in  attempting  a 
"  Life  of  Goethe  "  at  a  time  when  no  German  author 
had  undertaken  the  task ;  but  the  reception  which  my 
work  has  met  with,  even  after  the  appearance  of  the 
biographies  by  Viehoff  and  Schafer,  is  a  justification 
of  the  temerity.  The  sale  of  thirteen  thousand  copies 
in  England  and  Germany,  and  the  sympathy  gener- 
ously expressed,  not  un mingled,  it  is  true,  with  adverse 
and  even  angiy  criticism,  are  assurances  that  my 
labours  were  not  wholly  misdirected,  however  far  they 
may  have  fallen  short  of  their  aim.  For  the  expres- 
sions of  sympathy,  public  and  private,  I  cannot  but  be 
grateful ;  and  I  have  done  my  best  to  profit  by  criti- 
cism even  when  it  was  most  hostile. 

I  wish  to  make  special  mention  of  the  assist- 
ance tendered  me  by  the  late  Mr.  Franz  Demmler. 
Although  a  stranger  to  me,  this  accomplished  student 
of  Goethe  kindly  volunteered,  amid  many  and  press- 
ing avocations,  to  re-read  my  book  with  the  express 
purpose  of  annotating  it;  and  he  sent  me  several 
sheets  of  notes  and  objections,  all  displaying  the  vigour 
of  his  mind,  and  the  variety  of  his  reading.  Some 
of  these  I  was  glad  to  use  ;  and  even  those  which  I 
could  not  agree  with  or  adopt,  were  always  carefully 
considered.  On  certain  points  our  opinions  were 
diametrically  opposed ;  but  it  was  always  an  advan- 
tage to  me  to  read  criticisms  so  frank  and  acute. 

The  present  edition  is  altered  in  form  and  in  sub- 
stance. It  has  been  rewritten  in  parts,  with  a  view 
not  only  of  introducing  all  the  new  material  which 

ix 


X  PREFACE 

several  important  publications  have  furnished,  but  also 
of  correcting  and  reconstructing  it  so  as  to  make  it 
more  wurthy  of  pubHc  favour.  As  there  is  little 
probability  of  any  subsequent  publication  bringing  to 
lighi  fresh  material  of  importance,  1  hope  that  this 
reconstruction  of  my  book  will  be  final. 

With  respect  to  the  use  I  have  made  of  the  materials 
at  hand,  especially  of  Goethe's  Autobiography,  I  can 
but  repeat  what  was  said  in  the  preface  to  the  first 
edition  ;  the  "  Dichtung  uud  Wahrheit"  not  only  wants 
the  egotistic  garruhty  and  detail  which  give  such  con- 
fessions their  value,  but  presents  great  difhculties  to 
a  biographer.  The  main  reason  of  this  is  the  abiding 
inaccuracy  of  toiu,  which,  far  more  misleading  than 
the  many  inaccuracies  of  fact,  gives  to  the  whole 
youthful  period,  as  narrated  by  him,  an  aspect  so 
directly  contrary  to  what  is  given  by  contemporary 
evidence,  especially  his  own  letters,  that  an  attempt 
to  reconcile  the  contradiction  is  futil«\  If  any  one 
doubts  this  and  persists  in  his  doubts  after  reading 
tlie  early  chapters  of  this  work,  let  him  take  up 
Goethe's  letters  to  the  Countess  von  Stolberg,  or  the 
recently  publi.shed  letters  to  Kestner  and  Charlotte, 
and  compare  their  tone  with  the  tone  of  the  Auto- 
biography, wherein  the  old  man  depicts  the  youth  as 
the  old  man  saw  him,  not  as  the  youth  felt  and  hved. 
Tlie  picture  of  youtliful  folhes  and  youthful  passions 
comes  softened  through  the  distant  avenue  of  years. 
The  turbulence  of  a  youth  of  genius  is  not  indeed 
quite  forgotten,  but  it  is  hinted  with  stately  reserve. 
Jupiter,  serenely  throned  upon  01ym])us,  forgets  that 
hf  was  once  a  rebel  with  the  Titans. 

When  we  come  to  know  the  real  facts,  we  see  that 
the  Autobiography  does  not  so  much  misstate  as  under- 
.state  ;  we,  who  can  "  read  between  the  lines,"  perceive 
that  it  errs  more  from  want  of  sliarpness  of  relief  and 
precision  of  detail  than   from   positive  misrepresenta- 


PREFACE  xi 

tion.  Controlled  by  contemporary  evidence,  it  fur- 
nishes one  great  source  for  the  story  of  the  early 
years ;  and  I  greatly  regret  there  is  not  more  contem- 
porary evidence  to  furnish  more  details. 

For  the  later  period,  besides  the  mass  of  printed 
testimony  in  shape  of  Letters,  Memoirs,  Reminiscences, 
etc.,  I  have  endeavoured  to  get  at  the  truth  by  con- 
sulting those  who  hved  under  the  same  roof  with  him, 
those  who  hved  in  friendly  intercourse  with  him,  and 
those  who  have  made  his  life  and  works  a  special 
study.  I  have  sought  to  acquire  and  to  reproduce  a 
definite  image  of  the  living  man,  and  not  simply  of 
the  man  as  he  appeared  in  all  the  reticences  of  print. 
For  this  purpose  I  have  controlled  and  completed  the 
testimonies  of  print  by  means  of  papers  which  have 
never  seen  the  light,  and  papers  which  in  all  probabil- 
ity never  will  see  the  light —  by  means  of  personal 
corroboration,  and  the  many  sHght  details  which  are 
gathered  from  far  and  wide  when  one  is  alive  to  every 
scrap  of  authentic  information  and  can  see  its  signifi- 
cance ;  and  thus  comparing  testimony  with  testimony, 
completing  what  was  learned  yesterday  by  something 
learned  to-day,  not  uufrequently  helped  to  one  passage 
by  details  furnished  from  half  a  dozen  quarters,  I  have 
formed  the  conclusions  which  appear  in  this  work. 
In  this  difficult  and  sometimes  dehcate  task,  I  hope  it 
will  be  apparent  that  I  have  been  guided  by  the  desire 
to  get  at  the  truth,  having  no  cause  to  serve,  no  parti- 
sanship to  mislead  me,  no  personal  connection  to 
trammel  my  judgment.  It  will  be  seen  that  I  neither 
deny  nor  attempt  to  slur  over  points  which  may  tell 
against  my  hero.  The  man  is  too  great  and  too  good 
to  forfeit  our  love,  because  on  some  points  he  may 
incur  blame. 

Considerable  space  has  been  allotted  to  analyses 
and  criticisms  of  Goethe's  works ;  just  as  in  the  life 
of  a  great  captain  much  space  is  necessarily  occupied 


xii  PREFACE 

by  his  campaigns.  By  these  analyses  I  have  tried 
to  be  of  service  to  the  student  of  German  literature, 
as  well  as  to  those  who  do  not  read  German ;  and 
throughout  it  will  be  seen  that  pains  have  not  been 
spared  to  make  the  readers  feel  at  home  in  this  foreign 
land. 

The  scientific  writings  have  been  treated  with  what 
proportionately  may  seem  great  length ;  and  tliis, 
partly  because  science  filled  a  large  portion  of  Goethe's 
hfe ;  partly  because,  even  in  Germany,  there  was 
uotliing  like  a  full  exposition  of  his  aims  and  achieve- 
ments in  this  direction. 

The  Priory,  North  Bank,  KegenCs  Park,  November,  18(JS. 


Contents 


OB  AFTER 


PAOK 


Book  the  First.     1749  to  1765 

I. 

Parentage  

:i 

II. 

The  Precociuis  Child 

.       15 

III. 

Early  Exi'eriences 

.       27 

IV. 

Various  Studies 

.       38 

V. 

The  Child  Is  Father  to  the  Man  . 

Book  the  Second.     1765  to  1771 

.     4t; 

I. 

The  Leipsic  Student 

.       53 

II. 

Mental  Characteristics 

.       72 

III. 

Art  Studies 

.       78 

IV. 

Return  Home      

.       84 

V. 

Strasburg  

.       93 

VI. 

Herder  and  Frederika    

.     113 

Book  the  Third.     1771  to  1775 

I.  Doctor  Goethe's  Return 

II.  GoTz  von  Berlichingen    . 

III.  Wetzlar      .... 

IV.  Preparations  for  Werther 
V.  Wkrther     .... 

VI.  The  Literary  Lion  . 

VII.  LiLi 


139 

151 

101 

181) 

20t> 

227 

255 

Book  the  Fouktii.     1775  to  1779 

I.  Weimar  in  the  Eighteenth  Century     . 

II.  The  Notabilities  of  Weimar  . 

III.  The  First  Wild  Weeks  at  Weimar 

IV.  The  Frau   von  Stein         .... 

xiii 


271 
289 
300 
317 


xiv  CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 


V.     Private  Theatricals 328 

VI.     Many  -  COLOURED  Threads 339 

VII.      The  Real  Philanthropist 349 

Book  the  Fifth.     1779  to  1793 

I.     New  Birth 371 

II.     Iphigknia 376 

III.     Progress 392 


List   of  Illustrations 

PAGE 

The   Yocng    Goethe    at   Sesekheim    (See  page   US) 

Frontispiece 

"  Rath  Moritz  gave  a  great  party  "   .    .    •    .87 
''Upon  the  broad  and  lofty  gallery"  ....  116 

Portrait  of  Goethe 2^" 

"  She  lured  him  back  with  tenderness  "...  340 


Book   the    First 

1749  to   1765 


Vom  Vater  hab'  ich  die  Statur, 
Des  Lebeiis  ernstes  Fiihren  ; 
Von  Miilterchen  die  Frohnatur, 
Die  Lust  zu  fabuliren. 

Hatte  Gott  niich  auders  gewollt, 
So  hiitt'  er  mich  aiiders  gebaut. 


Life    and   Works   of  Goethe 


CHAPTER   I. 

PARENTAGE. 

QuiNTUS  CURTIUS  tells  us  that  in  certain  seasons 
Bactria  was  darkened  by  whirlwinds  of  dust,  which 
completely  covered  and  concealed  the  roads.  Left 
thus  without  their  usual  landmarks,  the  wanderers 
awaited  the  rising  of  the  stars,  — 

"  To  light  them  on  their  dim  and  perilous  way." 

May  we  not  say  the  same  of  literature  ?  From  time 
to  time  its  pathways  are  so  obscured  beneath  the  rub- 
bish of  the  age,  that  many  a  footsore  pilgrim  seeks  in 
vain  the  hidden  route.  In  such  times  it  may  be  well 
to  imitate  the  Bactrians :  ceasing  to  look  upon  the  con- 
fusions of  the  day,  and  turning  our  gaze  upon  the  gi-eat 
Immortals  who  have  gone  before,  we  may  seek  guid- 
ance from  their  light.  In  all  ages  the  biogiapliies  of 
great  men  have  been  fruitful  in  lessons ;  in  all  ages 
they  have  been  powerful  stinuilants  to  a  noble  am- 
bition ;  in  all  ages  they  have  been  regarded  as  armories 
wherein  are  gathered  the  weapons  with  which  great 
battles  have  been  won. 

There   may  be  some  among  my  readers  who  will 

3 


4  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

dispute  Goethe's  claim  to  greatness.     They  will  admit 
that  he  was  a  great  poet,  but  deny  that  he  was  a  great 
man.     In  denying  it,  they  will  set  forth  the  quahties 
which  constitute  their  ideal  of  greatness,  and  finding 
him  deficient  in  some  of  these  quahties,  will  dispute 
his  claim.      But  in  awarding  him  that  title,  I  do  not 
mean  to  imply  that  he  was  an  ideal  man ;  I  do  not 
present  him  as  the  exemplar  of  all  gi-eatness.     No  man 
can  be  such  an  exemplar.     Humanity  reveals  itself  in 
frat^ments.     One  man  is  the  exponent  of  one  kind  of 
excellence,   another    of    another.      Achilles    wins    the 
victory,  and  Homer   immortalises  it:  we  bestow   the 
laurel  crown  on  both.      In  virtue  of  a  genius  such  as 
modern  times  have  only  seen  equalled  once  or  twice, 
Goethe  deserves  the  epithet  of  great.      Nor  is  it  in 
virtue  of  genius  alone  that  he  deserves  the  title.    Merck 
said  of  him  that  what  he  hved  was  more  beautiful  than 
what  he  wrote ;  and  his  Life,  amid  all  its  weaknesses 
and  all  its  errors,  presents  a  picture  of  a  certain  gran- 
deur of  soul,  which  cannot  be  contemplated  unmoved. 
I  shall  make  no  attempt  to  conceal  his  faults.     Let 
them  be  dealt  witli  as  harslily  as  severest  justice  may 
dictate,  they  will  not  echpse  the  central  light  whicli 
shines  throughout  his  life.      And  without  wishing  to 
excuse,  or  to  conceal  faults  which  he  assuredly  had, 
we   must  always  bear  in  mind  that  the  faults  of  a 
celebrated  man  are  apt  to  carry  an  undue  emphasis. 
They  are  thrown  into  stronger  relief  by  the  very  splen- 
dour of  liis  fame.     Had  Goethe  never  written  "  Faust" 
no  one  would  have  heard  that  he  was  an  inconstant 
lover,  or  a  tepid  politician.     His  glory  immortalises  liis 
shame. 

TA^t  us  begin  as  near  the  beginning  as  may  be  desir- 
able, by  glancing  at  his  ancestry.  That  he  had  in- 
herited his  organisation  and  tendencies  from  his  fore- 
fathers, and  could  call  nothing  in  himself  original,  he 
has  told  us  in  these  verses : 


LIFE  AND  WORKS   OF  GOETHE  $ 

"  Vom  Vater  hab'  ich  die  Statur, 

Des  Lebens  ernstes  Fiihren  ; 
Von  Miitterchen  die  Frohnatur, 

Die  Lust  zu  fabuliren. 
Urahnherr  war  der  Schonsten  hold, 

Das  spukt  so  bin  uud  wieder ; 
Urahnfrau  liebte  Schmuck  und  Gold, 

Das  zuckt  -svobl  durch  die  Glieder. 
Sind  nun  die  Elemente  nicht, 

Aus  dem  Complex  zu  trennen, 
Was  ist  denn  an  dem  ganzen  Wicht 

Original  zu  nennen  ?"  ^ 

The  first  glimpse  we  get  of  his  ancestry  carries  us 
back  to  about  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
In  the  Grafschaft  of  Mansfeld,  in  Thuringia,  the  little 
town  of  Artern  numbered  among  its  scanty  inhabitants 
a  farrier,  by  name  Hans  Christian  Goethe.  His  son, 
Frederick,  being  probably  of  a  more  meditative  turn, 
selected  a  more  meditative  employment  than  that  of 
shoeing  horses :  he  became  a  tailor.  Having  passed  an  ap- 
prenticeship (not  precisely  that  of  "  Wilhelm  Meister  "), 
he  commenced  liis  Wanderings,  in  the  course  of  which 
he  reached  Frankfort.  Here  he  soon  found  employ- 
ment, and  being,  as  we  learn,  "  a  ladies'  man,"  he  soon 
also  found  a  wife.  The  master  tailor,  Sebastian  Lutz, 
gave  him  his  daughter,  on  his  admission  to  the  citizen- 

1 "  From  my  father  I  inherit  my  frame,  and  the  steady  guidance 
of  life  ;  from  dear  little  mother  my  happy  disposition,  and  love  of 
story-telling.  My  ancestor  was  a  'ladies'  man,'  and  that  habit 
haunts  me  now  and  then  ;  my  ancestress  loved  finery  and  show, 
which  also  runs  in  the  blood.  If,  then,  the  elements  are  not  to 
be  separated  from  the  whole,  what  can  one  call  original  in  the 
descendant  ?  " 

This  is  a  very  inadequate  translation  ;  but  believing  that  to 
leave  German  untranslated  is  unfair  to  those  whose  want  of 
leisure  or  inclination  lias  prevented  their  acquiring  the  language, 
I  shall  throughout  translate  every  word  cited.  At  the  same  time 
it  is  unfair  to  the  poet,  and  to  tlie  writer  quoting  the  poet,  to  be 
forced  to  give  translations  which  are  after  all  felt  not  to  represent 
the  force  and  spirit  of  the  original.  I  will  do  my  best  to  give 
approximative  translations,  which  the  reader  will  be  good  enough 
to  accept  as  such,  rather  than  be  left  in  the  dark. 


6  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

ship  of  Frankfort  and  to  the  guild  of  tailors.  This 
was  in  1687.  Several  children  were  born,  and  van- 
ished; in  1700  his  wife,  too,  vanished,  to  be  replaced, 
five  years  afterward,  by  Frau  Corneha  Schellhorn,  the 
daughter  of  another  tailor,  Georg  Walter ;  she  was 
then  a  widow,  blooming  with  six  and  thirty  summers, 
and  possessing  the  solid  attractions  of  a  good  property, 
namely,  the  hotel  Zum  Weidenliof,  where  her  new 
husband  laid  down  the  scissors,  and  donned  the  land- 
lord's apron.  He  had  two  sons  by  her,  and  died  in 
1730,  aged  seventy-three. 

Of  these  two  sons,  the  younger,  Johann  Caspar, 
was  the  father  of  our  poet.  Thus  we  see  that  Goethe, 
like  Schiller,  sprang  from  the  people.  He  makes  no 
mention  of  the  lucky  tailor,  nor  of  the  Thuringian 
farrier,  in  his  Autobiography.  This  silence  may  be 
variously  interpreted.  At  first,  I  imagined  it  was 
aristocratic  prudery  on  the  part  of  von  Goethe,  minister 
and  nobleman  ;  but  it  is  never  well  to  put  ungenerous 
constructions,  when  others,  equally  plausible  and  more 
honourable,  are  ready ;  let  us  rather  follow  the  advice 
of  Arthur  Helps,  to  "  employ  our  imagination  in  the 
service  of  charity."  We  can  easily  imagine  that  Goethe 
was  silent  about  the  tailor,  because,  in  truth,  having 
never  known  him,  there  was  none  of  that  affectionate 
remembrance  which  encircles  the  objects  of  early  life, 
to  make  this  grandfather  figure  in  the  Autobiography 
beside  the  grandfather  Textor,  who  was  known  and 
loved.  Probably,  also,  the  tailor  was  seldom  talked 
of  in  the  parental  circle.  There  is  a  peculiar  and 
indelible  ridicule  attached  to  the  idea  of  a  tailor  in 
Germany,  which  often  prevents  people  of  much  humbler 
pretensions  than  Goethe  from  whispering  their  con- 
nection with  such  a  trade.  Goethe  does  mention  this 
grandfather  in  the  Second  Book  of  his  Autobiography, 
and  Lei  Is  us  how  he  was  teased  by  the  taunts  of  boys 
respecting  his  humble  parentage  ;  these  taunts  even 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  7 

went  so  far  as  to  imply  that  he  might  possibly  have 
had  several  grandfathers;  and  he  began  to  speculate 
on  the  possibility  of  some  latent  aristocracy  in  his 
descent.  This  made  him  examine  with  some  curiosity 
the  portraits  of  noblemen,  to  try  and  detect  a  likeness. 

Johann  Caspar  Goethe  became  an  imperial  councillor 
in  Frankfort,  and  married,  in  1748,  Kathariua  Elizabeth, 
daughter  of  Johann  Wolfgang  Textor,  the  chief  magis- 
trate (SchuUheiss)} 

The  genealogical  tables  of  kings  and  conquerors  are 
thought  of  interest,  and  why  should  not  the  genealogy 
of  our  poet  be  equally  interesting  to  us  ?  In  the  belief 
that  it  will  be  so,  I  here  subjoin  it. 

iThe  family  of  Textor  and  Weber  (Textor  being  simply  the 
Latinised  form  of  Weber)  exist  to  this  day,  and  under  botii  names, 
in  the  Hohenlohe  territory.  Karl  Julius  Weber,  the  humourous 
author  of  "  Democritus  "  and  of  the  "  Briefe  eines  in  Deutschland 
reisenden  Deutschen,"  was  a  member  of  it.  In  the  description  of 
the  Jubilceum  of  the  Niirnberg  University  of  Altorf,  in  1723,  men- 
tion is  made  of  one  Joannes  Guolfgangus  Textor  as  a  bygone  or- 
nament of  the  faculty  of  law  ;  and  Mr.  Demmler,  to  whom  I  am 
indebted  for  these  particulars,  suggests  the  probability  of  this 
being  the  same  John  Wolfgang,  who  died  as  Oberbiirgermeister  in 
Frankfort,  1701. 


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lo  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Goethe's  father,  who  had  studied  law  in  Leipsic  and 
practised  it  for  awhile  in  Wetzlar,  and  had  travelled  iu 
Italy,  Holland,  and  France,  so  that  in  those  days  he 
appeared  an  exceptionally  cultivated  burgher,  was  a 
cold,  stern,  formal,  somewhat  pedantic,  but  truth-lov- 
ing, upright-minded  man.  He  hungered  for  knowl- 
edge ;  and,  although  in  general  of  a  laconic  turn,  freely 
imparted  all  he  learned.  In  his  domestic  circle  his 
word  was  law.  Not  only  imperious,  but  in  some 
respects  capricious,  he  was  nevertheless  gi-eatly  re- 
spected, if  Httle  loved,  by  wife,  children,  and  friends. 
He  is  characterised  by  Krause  as  ein  gcradliniger 
Frankfurter  Rcichsburger  —  "a  formal  Frankfort  citi- 
zen "  whose  habits  were  as  measured  as  his  gait.^  From 
him  the  poet  inherited  the  well-built  frame,  the  erect 
carriage,  and  the  measured  movement,  which  in  old 
age  became  stiffness,  and  was  construed  as  diplomacy 
or  haughtiness ;  from  him  also  came  that  orderliness 
and  stoicism  which  have  so  much  distressed  those  who 
cannot  conceive  genius  otherwise  than  as  vagabond  in 
its  habits.  The  craving  for  knowledge,  the  delight 
in  communicating  it,  the  almost  pedantic  attention 
to  details,  wliich  are  noticeable  in  the  poet,  are  all 
traceable  in  the  father. 

The  mother  was  more  like  what  we  conceive  as  the 
proper  parent  for  a  poet.  She  is  one  of  the  pleasantest 
figures  in  German  hterature,  and  one  standing  out 
with  greater  vividness  than  almost  any  other.  Her 
simple,  hearty,  joyous,  and  affectionate  nature  endeared 
her  to  all.  She  was  the  dehght  of  children,  the  fa- 
vourite of  poets  and  princes.  To  the  last  retaining  her 
enthusiasm  and  simphcity,  mingled  with  great  shrewd- 

1  Perhaps  geradimiger  might  be  translated  as  "  an  old  square- 
toes,"  haviiitc  reference  to  the  aiiti. mated  cut  of  the  old  Tuan's 
clothes.  The  fathers  of  the  present  generation  dubbed  the  stiff 
coat  of  their  grandfathers,  with  its  square  skirts  and  collars,  by 
the  name  of  magiMer  mnthe-'teos,  the  name  by  which  the  Pythag- 
orean proposilion  is  known  in  Germany. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  n 

ness  and  knowledge  of  character,  Frau  Aja  as  they 
christened  her,  was  at  once  grave  and  hearty,  dignified 
and  simple.  She  had  read  most  of  the  best  German 
and  Italian  authors,  had  picked  up  considerable  desul- 
tory information,  and  had  that  "  mother  wit "  which 
so  often  in  women  and  poets  seems  to  render  culture 
superfluous,  their  rapid  intuitions  anticipating  the  tardy 
conclusions  of  experience.  Her  letters  are  full  of 
spirit:  not  always  strictly  grammatical;  not  irre- 
proachable in  orthography ;  but  vigorous  and  viva- 
cious. After  a  lengthened  interview  with  her,  an 
enthusiast  exclaimed,  "  Now  do  I  understand  how 
Goethe  has  become  the  man  he  is!"^  Wieland, 
Merck,  Biirger,  Madame  de  Stael,  Karl  August,  and 
other  gi-eat  people  sought  her  acquaintance.  The 
Duchess  Amaha  corresponded  with  her  as  with  an 
intimate  friend  ;  and  her  letters  were  welcomed  eagerly 
at  the  Weimar  Court.^  She  was  married  at  seventeen, 
to  a  man  for  whom  she  had  no  love,  and  was  only 
eighteen  when  the  poet  was  born.^  This,  instead  of 
making  her  prematurely  old,  seems  to  have  perpetuated 
her  girlhood.  "  I  and  my  Wolfgang,"  she  said,  "  have 
always  held  fast  to  each  other,  because  we  were  both 
young  together."     To  him  she  transmitted  her  love  of 

1  "  Epheineriden  der  Literatur,"  quoted  in  "Nicolovius  iiber 
Goethe." 

2  A  large  portion  of  this  correspondence  has  recently  been  pub- 
lished ("  Brief wechsel  von  Katharina  Elizabeth  Goethe,"  1871), 
and  amply  proves  what,  from  private  sources,  I  had  been  able  to 
state  iu  the  text.  The  letters,  both  of  the  Duchess  Anialia  and 
the  Frau  Rath,  are  very  amusing,  very  unrestrained,  and  ex- 
tremely unlike  any  other  correspondences  between  the  court  and 
the  bourgeoisie.  Indeed  they  are  not  unfrequently  more  like  what 
one  would  expect  to  find  two  lively  grocers  writing  to  each  other. 
There  is  a  free  and  easy  tone  which  the  editor  idealises  when  he 
says  that  "  the  wash  of  the  Main  is  heard  between  the  lines,  and 
the  vineyards  look  down  on  every  sentence."  It  is  interesting 
to  see  how  every  one  at  the  court  writes  to  her  as  "  dear  mother  " 
and  sends  her  all  the  gossip  of  the  hour. 

3  Lovers  of  parallels  may  be  reminded  that  Napoleon's  mother 
was  only  eighteen  when  the  hero  of  Austerlitz  was  born. 


12  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

story-telling,  her  animal  spirits,  her  love  of  everything 
which  bore  the  stamp  of  distinctive  individuahty,  and 
her  love  of  seeing  happy  faces  around  her.  "  Order 
and  quiet,"  she  says  in  one  of  her  charming  letters  to 
Freiherr  von  Stein,  "  are  my  principal  characteristics. 
Hence  I  despatch  at  once  whatever  I  have  to  do,  the 
most  disagreeable  always  first,  and  I  gulp  down  the 
devil  without  looking  at  him.  When  all  has  returned 
to  its  proper  state,  then  I  defy  any  one  to  surpass  me 
in  good  humour."  Her  heartiness  and  tolerance  are 
the  causes,  she  thinks,  why  every  one  likes  her.  "  I 
am  fond  of  people,  and  that  every  one  feels  directly  — 
young  and  old.  I  pass  without  pretension  through 
the  world,  and  that  gratifies  people.  I  never  hemoral- 
ise  any  one  —  always  seek  out  the  good  that  is  in 
them,  and  leave  ivhat  is  had  to  him  who  made  man- 
hind  and  Jcnoivs  hoiv  to  round  off  the  angles.  In  this 
way  I  make  myself  happy  and  comfortable."  Who 
does  not  recognise  the  sou  in  those  accents  ?  The 
kindliest  of  men  inherited  his  loving  nature  from  the 
heartiest  of  women. 

He  also  inherited  from  her  his  dislike  of  unneces- 
sary agitation  and  emotion :  that  deliberate  avoidance 
of  all  things  capable  of  disturbing  liis  peace  of  mind, 
which  has  been  construed  as  coldness.  Her  sunny 
nature  shrank  from  storms.  She  stipulated  with  her 
servants  that  they  were  not  to  trouble  her  with  afflict- 
ings  news,  except  upon  some  positive  necessity  for 
the  communication.  In  1805,  when  her  sou  was 
dangerously  ill  at  Weimar,  no  one  ventured  to  speak 
to  her  on  the  subject.  Not  until  he  had  completely 
recovered  did  she  voluntarily  enter  on  it.  "  I  knew  it 
all,"  she  remarked,  "  but  said  nothing.  Now  we  can 
talk  about  him  without  my  feeling  a  stab  every  time 
his  name  is  mentioned." 

In  this  voluntary  insulation  from  disastrous  intelli- 
gence, there  is  something  so  antagonistic  to  the  notori- 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  13 

ous  craving  for  excitement  felt  by  the  Teutonic  races, 
something  so  unlike  the  morbid  love  of  iutellectual 
drams,  —  the  fierce  alcohol  of  emotion  with  which 
many  intoxicate  themselves,  —  that  it  is  no  wonder  if 
Goethe  has  on  this  account  been  accused  of  insensi- 
bility. Yet,  in  truth,  a  very  superficial  knowledge  of 
his  nature  suffices  to  show  that  it  was  not  from  cold- 
ness he  avoided  indulgence  in  the  "  luxury  of  woe." 
It  was  excess  of  sensibility,  not  want  of  sympathy. 
His  delicate  nature  shrank  from  the  wear  and  tear  of 
needless  excitement ;  for  that  which  to  coarser  natures 
would  have  been  a  stimulus,  was  to  him  a  disturbance. 
It  is  doubtless  the  instinct  of  an  emotional  nature 
to  seek  sach  stimulants ;  but  his  reason  was  strong 
enough  to  keep  this  instinct  under  control.  Falk  re- 
lates that  when  Goethe  heard  he  had  looked  upon 
Wieland  in  death,  "  and  thereby  procured  myself  a 
miserable  evening,  and  worse  night,  he  vehemently 
reproved  me  for  it.  Why,  said  he,  should  I  suffer  the 
delightful  impression  of  the  features  of  my  friend  to 
be  obliterated  by  the  sight  of  a  disfigured  mask  ?  I 
carefully  avoided  seeing  Schiller,  Herder,  or  the 
Duchess  Amalia,  in  the  coffin.  I,  for  my  part,  desire 
to  retain  in  my  memory  a  picture  of  my  departed 
friends  more  full  of  soul  than  the  mere  mask  can 
furnish  me." 

This  subjection  of  the  instinct  of  curiosity  to  the 
dictates  of  reason  is  not  coldness.  There  is  danger 
indeed  of  carrying  it  too  far,  and  of  coddling  the  mind ; 
but  into  this  extreme  neither  Goethe  nor  his  mother 
can  be  said  to  have  fallen.  At  any  rate,  let  the  reader 
pronounce  what  judgment  he  thinks  fit,  it  is  right  that 
he  should  at  the  outset  distinctly  understand  it  to  be 
a  characteristic  of  the  man.  The  self-mastery  it  imphes 
forms  the  keystone  of  his  character.  In  him  emotion 
was  not  suppressed,  but  subjected  to  the  intellect.  He 
was  "king  over  himself."     He,  as  he  tells  us,  found 


14  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

men  "  eager  enough  to  lord  it  over  others,  while  indif- 
ferent whether  they  could  rule  themselves  "  — 

"  Das  woUen  alle  Herren  seyn, 
Und  keiner  ist  Herr  von  sich  !  " 

He  made  it  his  study  to  subdue  into  harmonious  unity 
the  rebeUious  impulses  which  incessantly  threatened 
the  supremacy  of  reason.  Here,  on  the  threshold  of 
his  career,  let  attention  be  called  to  this  cardinal 
characteristic;  his  footsteps  were  not  guided  by  a 
light  tremulous  in  every  gust,  hable  to  fall  to  the 
ground  amid  the  hurrying  agitation  of  vulgar  instincts, 
but  a  torch  grasped  by  an  iron  will,  and  lifted  high 
above  the  currents  of  those  lower  gusts,  shedding  a 
continuous  steady  gleam  across  the  troubled  path.  I 
do  not  say  he  never  stumbled.  At  times  the  clamor- 
ous agitation  of  rebellious  passions  misled  him  as  it 
misleads  others  ;  for  he  was  very  human,  often  erring  ; 
but  viewing  his  life  as  it  disposes  itself  into  the  broad 
masses  necessary  for  a  characteristic  appreciation,  I 
say  that  in  him,  more  than  in  almost  any  other  man 
of  his  time,  naked  vigour  of  resolution,  moving  in  alli- 
ance with  steady  clearness  of  intellect,  produced  a  self- 
mastery  of  the  very  highest  kind.^ 

This  he  owed  partly  to  his  father  and  partly  to  his 
mother.  It  was  from  the  latter  he  derived  those  char- 
acteristics which  determined  the  movement  and  orbit 
of  his  artistic  nature :  her  joyous,  healthy  tempera- 
ment, humour,  fancy,  and  susceptibility,  were,  in  him, 
creative,  owing  to  the  marvellous  insight  which  gath- 
ered up  the  scattered  and  vanishing  elements  of 
experience  into  new  and  living  combinations. 

>  "  All  I  have  had  to  do  I  have  done  in  kindly  fashion,"  he 
said  :  "  I  let  tonpues  wag  as  they  pleased.  What  I  saw  to  be  the 
right  thing  that  I  did." 


CHAPTER   11. 

THE   PRECOCIOUS   CHILD. 

JoHANN  Wolfgang  Goethe  was  born  on  the  28th 
August,  1749,  as  the  clock  sounded  the  hour  of  noon, 
in  the  busy  town  of  Frankfort-on-the-Maiu.  The  busy 
town,  as  may  be  supposed,  was  quite  heedless  of  what 
was  then  passing  in  the  corner  of  that  low,  heavy- 
beamed  room  in  the  Grosse  Hirsch-Grahen,  where  an 
infant,  black,  and  almost  lifeless,  was  watched  with 
agonising  anxiety  —  an  anxiety  dissolving  into  tears  of 
joy,  as  the  aged  grandmother  exclaimed  to  the  pale 
mother :  "  Puithin,  er  lebt  !  —  he  lives  ! "  But  if  the 
town  was  heedless,  not  so  were  the  stars,  if  astrologers 
are  to  be  trusted  ;  the  stars  knew  who  was  gasping  for 
hfe  beside  his  trembling  mother,  and  in  solemn  convo- 
cation they  prefigured  his  future  greatness.  Goethe, 
with  a  grave  smile,  notes  this  conjunction  of  the  stars. 

Whatever  the  stars  may  have  betokened,  this  August, 
1749,  was  a  momentous  month  to  Germany,  if  only  be- 
cause it  gave  birth  to  the  man  whose  influence  on  his 
nation  has  been  greater  than  that  of  any  man  since 
Luther,  not  even  excepting  Lessing.  A  momentous 
month  in  very  momentous  times.  It  was  the  middle 
of  the  eighteenth  century :  a  period  when  the  move- 
ment which  had  culminated  in  Luther  was  passing 
from  religion  to  politics,  and  freedom  of  thought  was 
translating  itself  into  liberty  of  action.  From  theology 
the  movement  had  communicated  itself  to  philosophy, 
morals,  and  politics.  The  agitation  was  still  mainly  in 
the  higher  classes,  but  it  was  gradually  descending  to 

15 


i6  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

the  lower.  A  period  of  deep  unrest :  big  with  events 
which  would  expand  the  conceptions  of  all  men,  and 
bewilder  some  of  the  wisest. 

It  is  not  the  biographer's  province  to  write  a  history 
of  an  epoch  while  telling  the  story  of  a  hfe ;  but  some 
historical  indication  is  necessary,  in  order  that  the  time 
and  place  should  be  vividly  before  the  reader's  mind ; 
and  perhaps  the  readiest  way  to  call  up  such  a  picture 
in  a  paragraph  will  be  to  mention  some  of  the  "  nota- 
bles "  of  that  period,  and  at  what  points  in  their  career 
they   had   arrived.     In    that    very    month  of   August 
Madame  du  Chatelet,  the  learned  translator  of  Newton, 
the  loving  but  hot-tempered  "  Uranie  "  of  Voltaire,  died 
in   childbed,  leaving   him  without   a   companion,   and 
without  a  counsellor  to  prevent  his  going  to  the  court 
of  Frederick  the  Great.     In  that  year  Rousseau  was 
seen  in  the  brilliant  circle  of  Madame  d'Epinay,  disput- 
ing with  the  Encyclopedists,  declaiming  eloquently  on 
the  sacredness  of  maternity,  and  going  home  to  cast  his 
newborn  infant  into  the  basket  of  the  Foundling  Hos- 
pital    In  that  year  Samuel  Johnson  was  toiling  man- 
fully   over    his    English    dictionary ;    Gibbon   was    at 
Westminster,    trying    with    unsuccessful    dihgence    to 
master  the  Greek  and  Latin  rudiments  ;  Goldsmith  was 
delighting  the  Tony  Lumpkins  of  his  district,  and  the 
"  wandering  bear-leaders   of  genteeler  sort,"   with   his 
talents,  while  enjoying  that  "  careless  idleness  of  fire- 
side and  easy  chair,"  and  that  "tavern  excitement  of 
the  game  of  cards,  to  which  he  looked  back  so  wist- 
fully from  his  first  hard  London    struggles."     In  that 
year    Buffon,    whose  scientific   greatness    Goethe    was 
one  of  the  first  to  perceive,  produced  the  first  volume 
of  his  "Histoire   Naturelle."     Haller  was  at  Gottiu- 
gen  performing  those  experiments  on    sensibility   and 
irritability    which    were    to    immortahse    him.      Jolm 
Hunter,  who  had  recently  left  Scotland,  joined  Chesel- 
den   at  the  Chelsea  Hospital.     Mirabeau   and    Alficri 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  17 

were  tyrants  in  their  nurseries ;  and  Marat  was  an  in- 
nocent boy  of  five  years  old,  toddling  about  in  the  Val 
de  Travers,  unmolested  as  yet  by  the  wickedness  of 
"  les  aristocrats." 

If  these  names  have  helped  to  call  up  the  period,  we 
must  seek  in  Goethe's  own  pages  for  a  picture  of  the 
place.  He  has  painted  the  city  of  Frankfort  as  one 
who  loved  it.  No  city  in  Germany  was  better  fitted 
for  the  birthplace  of  this  cosmopolitan  poet.  It  was 
rich  in  speaking  memorials  of  the  past,  remnants  of  old 
German  life,  lingering  echoes  of  the  voices  which 
sounded  through  the  middle  ages :  such  as  a  town 
within  a  town,  the  fortress  within  a  fortress,  the  walled 
cloisters,  the  various  symbolical  ceremonies  still  pre- 
served from  feudal  times,  and  the  Jews'  quarter,  so 
picturesque,  so  filthy,  and  so  strikingly  significant.  But 
if  Frankfort  was  thus  representative  of  the  past,  it  was 
equally  representative  of  the  present.  The  travellers 
brought  there  by  the  Rhine-stream,  and  by  the  great 
northern  roads,  made  it  a  representative  of  Europe,  and 
an  emporium  of  Commerce.  It  was  thus  a  centre 
for  that  distinctively  modern  idea  —  Industrialism  — 
which  began,  and  must  complete,  the  destruction  of 
Feudalism.  This  twofold  character  Frankfort  retains 
to  the  present  day  (1853) :  the  storks,  perched  upon  its 
ancient  gables,  look  down  upon  the  varied  bustle  of 
Fairs  held  by  modern  Commerce  in  the  ancient  streets. 

The  feeling  for  antiquity,  and  especially  for  old  Ger- 
man life,  which  his  native  city  would  thus  pictur- 
esquely cultivate,  was  rivalled  by  a  feeling  for  Italy 
and  its  splendours,  which  was  cultivated  under  the 
paternal  roof.  His  father  had  retained  an  inextinguish- 
able delight  in  all  that  reminded  him  of  Italy.  His 
walls  were  hung  with  architectural  drawings  and  views 
of  Rome ;  so  that  the  poet  was  thus  familiar  from 
infancy  with  the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  St.  Peter's,  the 
Coliseum,   and   other    centres   of    grand   associations. 


iS  LIFE   AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Typical  of  bis  own  nature  and  strivings  is  this  conjunc- 
tion of  the  Classic  and  the  German  —  the  one  lying 
nearest  to  him,  in  homely  intimacy,  the  other  lying 
outside,  as  a  mere  scene  he  was  to  contemplate. 
Goethe  by  nature  was  more  Greek  than  German,  but 
he  never  freed  himself  from  German  influence. 

Thus  much  on  time  and  place,  the  two  cardinal  con- 
ditions of  Kfe.  Before  quitting  such  generalities  for 
the  details  of  biography,  it  may  be  well  to  call  atten- 
tion to  one  hitherto  unnoticed,  viz.,  the  moderate  ele- 
vation of  his  social  status.  Placed  midway  between  the 
two  perilous  extremes  of  afHuence  and  want,  his  whole 
career  received  a  modifying  influence  from  this  position. 
He  never  knew  adversity.  This  alone  must  necessa- 
rily have  deprived  him  of  one  powerful  chord  which 
vibrates  through  literature.  Adversity,  the  sternest  of 
teachers,  had  little  to  teach  him.  He  never  knew  the 
gaunt  companionship  of  Want,  whispering  terrible  sug- 
gestions. He  never  knew  the  necessity  to  conquer  for 
himself  breathing-room  in  the  world.  Thus  all  the 
feelings  of  bitterness,  opposition,  and  defiance,  which 
accompany  and  perplex  the  struggle  of  life,  were  to 
him  almost  unknown,  and  he  was  taught  nothing  of  the 
aggressive  and  practical  energies  with  which  these  feel- 
ings develop  in  impetuous  natures.  How  much  of  his 
serenity,  how  much  of  his  dislike  to  political  agitation, 
may  be  traced  to  this  origin  ? 

That  lie  was  the  lovehest  baby  ever  seen,  exciting 
admiration  wherever  nurse  or  mother  carried  him,  and 
exliibiting,  in  swaddling-clothes,  the  most  wonderful 
intelligence,  we  need  no  biographer  to  tell  us.  Is  it 
not  said  of  every  baby  ?  But  that  he  was  in  truth  a 
wonderful  child  we  have  undeniable  evidence,  and  of 
u  kind  less  questionable  than  the  statement  of  mothers 
and  relatives.  At  three  years  old  he  could  seldom  be 
brought  to  play  with  little  children,  and  only  on  the 
condition  of  their  being  pretty.     One  day,  in  a  neigh- 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  19 

hour's  house,  he  suddenly  began  to  cry  and  exclaim, 
"  That  black  cliild  must  go  away  !  I  can't  bear  him  !  " 
And  he  howled  till  he  was  carried  home,  where  he  was 
slowly  pacified ;  the  whole  cause  of  his  grief  being  the 
ugliness  of  the  child. 

A  quick,  merry  little  girl  grew  up  by  the  boy's  side. 
Four  other  children  also  came,  but  soon  vanished. 
Cornelia  was  the  only  companion  who  survived,  and 
for  her  his  affection  dated  from  her  cradle.  He  brought 
his  toys  to  her,  wanted  to  feed  her  and  attend  on  her,  and 
was  very  jealous  of  all  who  approached  her.  "  When 
she  was  taken  from  the  cradle,  over  which  he  watched, 
his  anger  was  scarcely  to  be  quieted.  He  was  alto- 
gether much  more  easily  moved  to  anger  than  to  tears." 
To  the  last  his  love  for  Cornelia  was  steadfast. 

In  old  German  towns,  Frankfort  among  them,  the 
ground  floor  of  residences  consists  of  a  great  hall  where 
the  vehicles  are  housed.  This  floor  opens  in  folding 
trap-doors,  for  the  passage  of  wine-casks  into  the  cellars 
below.  In  one  corner  of  the  hall  there  is  a  sort  of 
lattice,  opening  by  an  iron  or  wooden  grating  upon  the 
street.  This  is  called  the  Gercims.  Here  the  crockery 
in  daily  use  was  kept ;  here  the  servants  peeled  their 
potatoes,  and  cut  their  carrots  and  turnips,  preparatory 
to  cooking ;  here  also  the  housewife  would  sit  with  her 
sewing,  or  her  knitting,  giving  an  eye  to  what  passed 
in  the  street  (when  anything  did  pass  there) ;  and  an 
ear  to  a  little  neighbourly  gossip.  Such  a  place  was 
of  course  a  favourite  with  the  children. 

One  fine  afternoon,  when  the  house  was  quiet,  Mas- 
ter Wolfgang,  with  his  cup  in  his  hand  and  nothing  to 
do,  finds  himself  in  this  Gcrams,  looking  out  into  the 
silent  street;  and  telegraphing  to  the  young  Ochsen- 
steins,  who  dwelt  opposite.  By  way  of  doing  some- 
thing he  begins  to  fling  the  crockery  into  the  street, 
delighted  at  the  smashing  music  which  it  makes,  and 
stimulated  by  the  approbation  of  the  brothers  Ochsen- 


20  LIFE  AND  WORKS   OF  GOETHE 

stein,  who  chuckle  at  him  from  over  the  way.  The 
plates  and  dishes  are  flying  in  this  way,  when  his 
mother  returns :  she  sees  the  mischief  with  a  house- 
wifely horror,  meltmg  into  girhsh  sympathy,  as  she 
hears  how  heartily  the  httle  fellow  laughs  at  his  es- 
capade, and  how  the  neighbours  laugh  at  him. 

This  genial,  indulgent  mother  employed  her  faculty 
for  story -telling  to  his  and  her  own  delight.  "  Air,  fire, 
earth,  and  water  I  represented  under  the  forms  of  prin- 
cesses ;  and  to  all  natural  phenomena  I  gave  a  mean- 
ing, in  which  I  almost  believed  more  fervently  than  my 
httle  hearers.  As  we  thought  of  paths  which  led  from 
star  to  star,  and  that  we  should  one  day  inhabit  the 
stars,  and  thought  of  the  great  spirits  we  should  meet 
there,  I  was  as  eager  for  the  hours  of  story-telling  as 
the  children  themselves  ;  I  was  quite  curious  about  the 
future  course  of  ray  own  improvisation,  and  any  invita- 
tion which  interrupted  these  evenings  was  disagreeable. 
There  I  sat,  and  there  Wolfgang  held  me  with  his  large 
black  eyes ;  and  when  the  fate  of  one  of  his  favourites 
was  not  according  to  his  fancy,  I  saw  the  angry  veins 
swell  on  his  temples,  I  saw  him  repress  his  tears.  He 
often  burst  in  with  '  But,  mother,  the  princess  won't 
marry  the  nasty  tailor,  even  if  he  does  kill  the  giant.* 
And  when  I  made  a  pause  for  the  night,  promising  to 
continue  it  on  the  morrow,  I  was  certain  that  he  would 
in  the  meanwliile  think  it  out  for  himself,  and  so  he 
often  stimulated  my  imagination.  When  I  turned  the 
story  according  to  his  plan,  and  told  him  that  he  had 
found  out  the  denouement,  then  was  he  all  fire  and 
flame,  and  one  could  see  his  little  heart  beating  under- 
neath his  dress  !  His  grandmother,  who  made  a  great 
pet  of  him,  was  tlie  confidant  of  all  his  ideas  as  to  how 
the  story  would  turn  out,  and  as  she  repeated  these  to 
me,  and  I  turned  the  story  according  to  these  hints, 
there  was  a  little  di])lomatic  secrecy  between  us,  which 
we  never  disclosed.      I  had  the  pleasure  of  continuing 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  21 

my  story  to  the  delight  and  astonishment  of  my  hear- 
ers, and  Wolfgang  saw  with  glowing  eyes  the  ful- 
filment of  his  own  conceptions,  and  listened  with 
enthusiastic  applause."  What  a  charming  glimpse  of 
mother  and  son ! 

The  grandmother  here  spoken  of  lived  in  the  saue 
house,  and  when  lessons  were  finished,  away  tie 
children  hurried  to  her  room,  to  play.  The  dear  o  d 
lady,  proud  as  a  grandmother, "  spoiled  "  them,  of  course, 
and  gave  them  many  an  eatable,  which  they  would 
get  only  in  her  room.  But  of  all  her  gifts  nothing  was 
comparable  to  the  puppet-show  with  which  she  sur- 
prised them  on  the  Christmas  Eve  of  1753,  and  which 
Goethe  says  "  created  a  new  world  in  the  house."  The 
reader  of  "  Wilhelm  Meister  "  will  remember  with  what 
solemn  importance  the  significance  of  such  a  puppet- 
show  is  treated,  and  may  guess  how  it  would  exercise 
the  boy's  imagination. 

There  was  also  the  grandfather  Textor,  whose  house 
the  children  gladly  visited,  and  whose  grave  person- 
ality produced  an  impression  on  the  boy,  all  the  deeper 
because  a  certain  mysterious  awe  surrounded  the  mono- 
syllabic dream-interpreting  old  gentleman.  His  por- 
trait presents  him  in  a  perruque  d  huit  Stages,  with 
the  heavy  golden  chain  round  his  neck,  suspending 
a  medal  given  liim  by  the  Empress  Maria  Theresa ; 
but  Goethe  remembered  him  more  vividly  in  his 
dressing-gown  and  slippers,  moving  amid  the  flowers 
of  his  garden,  weeding,  training,  watering;  or  seated 
at  the  dinner-table  where  on  Sundays  he  received  his 
guests. 

The  mother's  admirable  method  of  cultivating  the 
inventive  activity  of  the  boy,  finds  its  pendant  in  the 
father's  method  of  cultivating  liis  receptive  faculties. 
He  speaks  with  less  approbation  than  it  deserved  of 
his  father's  idea  of  education  ;  probably  because  late  in 
life  he  felt  keenly  his  deficiencies  in  systematic  train- 


22  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

ing.  But  the  principle  upon  which  the  father  pro- 
ceeded was  an  excellent  one,  namely,  that  of  exercising 
the  intellect  rather  than  the  memory.  An  anecdote 
was  dictated,  generally  something  from  every-day  life, 
or  perhaps  a  trait  from  the  life  of  Frederick  the  Great ; 
on  tliis  the  boy  wrote  dialogues  and  moral  reflections 
in  Latin  and  German.  Some  of  these  have  been  pre- 
served and  published ;  a  glance  at  them  shows  what  a 
mastery  over  Latin  was  achieved  in  his  eighth  year. 
We  can  never  be  quite  certain  that  the  hand  of  the 
master  is  not  mingled  mth  that  of  the  child ;  but  the 
very  method  of  independence  which  the  master  through- 
out pursued  is  contrary  to  a  supposition  of  his  improv- 
ing the  exercises,  although  the  style  is  certainly  above 
what  even  advanced  pupils  usually  achieve.  Doctor 
Wisemann,  of  Frankfort,  to  whom  we  are  indebted 
for  these  exercises  and  compositions,  written  during 
Goethe's  sixth,  seventh,  and  eighth  years,  thinks  there 
can  be  no  doubt  of  thuir  being  the  unassisted  produc- 
tions of  the  boy.  In  one  of  the  dialogues  there  is  a 
pun  which  proves  that  the  dialogue  was  written  in 
Latin  first  and  then  translated  into  German.  It  is 
this :  the  child  is  making  wax  figures,  his  father  asks 
him  why  he  does  not  relinquish  such  trivialities.  The 
word  used  is  nuces,  which,  meaning  triviahties  in  a 
metapliorical  sense,  is  by  the  boy  wilfully  interpreted 
in  its  ordinary  sense,  as  nuts  — "  cera  nunc  ludo  non 
nucibus"  —  I  play  with  wax,  not  with  nuts.  The 
German  word  iW/.s.sr  means  nuts  sim])ly,  and  lias  no 
metaphorical  meaning. 

Here  is  one  of  his  moral  reflections.  "  Horatius  and 
Cicero  were  indeed  Heathens,  yet  more  sensible  than 
many  Gliristians ;  for  the  one  says  silver  is  baser  tlian 
gold,  gold  tlian  virtue ;  and  the  otlier  says  notbing  is 
so  beautiful  as  virtue.  ^loreover,  many  Heathens  have 
surpassed  Cliristians  in  virtue.  Who  was  truer  in 
friendship  than  Damon  ?  more  generous  than  Alcxan- 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  23 

der  ?  more  just  than  Aristides  ?  more  abstinent  than 
Diogenes  ?  more  patient  than  Socrates  ?  more  humane 
than  Vespasian  ?  more  industrious  than  Apelles  and 
Demosthenes  ?  "  Platitudes  these,  doubtless ;  but  they 
are  platitudes  which  serve  many  as  the  ripe  maxims 
of  maturity.  They  give  us  a  notion  of  the  boy  being 
somewhat  "  old-fashioned,"  and  they  show  great  prog- 
ress in  culture.  His  progress  in  Greek  was  remark- 
able, as  may  be  seen  from  his  published  exercises. 
Italian  he  learned  by  listening  to  his  father  teaching 
Cornelia.  He  pretended  to  be  occupied  with  his  own 
lesson,  and  caught  up  all  that  was  said.  French,  too, 
he  learned,  as  the  exercises  testify  ;  and  thus  before  he 
is  eight,  we  find  him  writing  German,  French,  Italian, 
Latin,  and  Greek. 

He  was,  in  fact,  a  precocious  child.  This  will 
probably  startle  many  readers,  especially  if  they  have 
adopted  the  current  notion  that  precocity  is  a  sign  of 
disease,  and  that  marvellous  children  are  necessarily 
evanescent  fruits  which  never  ripen,  early  blossoms 
which  wither  early.  Ohservatum  fere  est  celerius  occidere 
festiiiatam  maturitatem,  says  Quiutilian,  in  the  mourn- 
ful passage  which  records  the  loss  of  his  darling  son ; 
and  many  a  proud  parent  has  seen  his  hopes  frustrated 
by  early  death,  or  by  matured  mediocrity  following  the 
brilliant  promise.  It  may  help  to  do  away  with  some 
confusion  on  this  subject,  if  we  bear  in  mind  that  men 
distinguish  themselves  by  receptive  capacity  and  by 
productive  capacity ;  they  learn,  and  they  invent.  In 
men  of  the  highest  class  these  two  qualities  are  united. 
Shakespeare  and  Goethe  are  not  less  remarkable  for 
the  variety  of  their  knowledge,  than  for  the  activity  of 
their  invention.  But  as  we  call  the  child  clever  who 
learns  liis  lessons  rapidly,  and  the  child  clever  who 
shows  wit,  sagacity,  and  invention,  this  ambiguity  of 
phrase  has  led  to  surprise  when  the  child  who  was 
"  so  clever  "  at  school,  turns  out  a  mediocre  man ;  or, 


24  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

conversely,  when  the  child  who  was  a  dunce  at  school, 
turns  out  a  man  of  genius. 

Goethe's  precocity  was  nothing  abnormal.  It  was 
the  activity  of  a  native  disposition  at  once  greatly  re- 
ceptive and  readily  productive.  Through  life  he  mani- 
fested the  same  eager  desire  for  knowledge,  and  was 
not  in  the  least  alarmed  by  that  bugbear  of  "  knowledge 
stifling  originality,"  which  alarms  some  men  of  ques- 
tionable genius  and  unquestionable  ignorance.  He 
knew  that  if  abundant  fuel  stifles  miserable  fires,  it 
makes  the  great  fire  blaze. 

"  Ein  Quidam  sagt :  '  Ich  bin  von  keiner  Schule  ; 
Kein  Meister  lebt  mit  dem  ich  buhle  ; 
Auch  bin  ich  weit  davon  entfernt 
Dass  ich  von  Todten  was  gelernt.' 
Das  heisst,  weiin  ich  ihn  recht  verstand: 
'  Ich  bin  ein  Narr  auf  eigne  Hand  !  '  "  ^ 

In  the  summer  of  1754  the  old  house  was  entirely 
rebuilt,  Wolfgang  officiating  at  the  ceremony  of  laying 
the  foundation,  dressed  as  a  little  bricklayer.  The 
quick,  observant  boy  found  much  in  this  rebuilding  of 
the  paternal  house  to  interest  him ;  he  chatted  with 
the  workmen,  learning  their  domestic  circumstances, 
and  learning  something  of  the  builder's  art,  which  in 
after  years  so  often  occupied  him.  This  event,  more- 
over, led  to  his  being  sent  to  a  friend  during  the 
restoration  of  the  upper  part  of  the  house  —  for  the 
family  inhabited  the  house  during  its  reconstruction, 
which    was    made    story    by   story   from    the    ground 

1  An  epigram,  which  may  be  rendered  thus  :  — 

An  author  boasting  said  :  "  I  follow  none  ; 
I  owe  uiy  wisdom  to  myself  alone  ; 
To  neither  ancient  nor  to  modern  sage 
Am  I  indebted  for  a  single  page."  — 
To  place  this  b()a.sting  in  its  ])ropfir  light : 
Thiti  author  in  —  a  Fool  iu  hib  own  Kight  1 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  25 

upwards  —  and  the  event  also  led  to  his  being  sent  to 
school. 

Viehoff  thinks  that  Germany  would  have  had  quite 
another  Goethe  had  the  child  been  kept  at  a  public 
school   till   he   went   to  the    university;   and    quotes 
Gervinus  to  the  effect  that  Goethe's  home  education 
prevented  his  ever  thoroughly  appreciating  history,  and 
the  struggles  of  the  masses.     Not  accepting  the  doc- 
trine   that    character    is    formed   by   circumstances,  I 
cannot  accept  the  notion  of  school  life  affecting  the 
poet  to  this  extent.     We  have   only  to  reflect    how 
many  men  are  educated  at  public  schools  without  their 
developing  a  love  of  history  or  much  sympathy  with 
the  masses,  to  see  that  Goethe's  peculiarities  must  have 
had  some  other  source  than  home  education.     That 
source  lay  in  his  character.     Moreover,  it  is  extremely 
questionable  whether  Goethe  could  have  learned    to 
sympathise  with  the  masses  in  a  school  of  one  of  the 
German   imperial   towns,    where   there    could   be   no 
"  masses,"  but  only  close  corporations,  ruled  and  ruling 
according  to  narrow  and  somewhat  sordid  ideas.    From 
intercourse  with   the    sons   of    Frankfort   citizens,  no 
patriotism,   certainly    no    republicanism,    was    to    be 
learned.     Nor  was  the  pubhc  teaching,  especially  the 
historical  teaching,  likely  to  counteract  this  influence, 
or  to  inspire  the  youth  with  gi-eat  national  sympathies. 
Those  ideas  had  not  penetrated  schools  and  universi- 
ties.    History,  as  taught  by  Schiller  and  Heeren,  was 
undreamed  of.  "  When  I  entered  at  Tubingen  in  1826," 
writes  Mr.  Demmler  to  me,  "  the  university  of  Paulus, 
Schelling,  Hegel  and,  in  days  of  yore,  of  Melanchthon, 
Eeuchlin,  and  Kepler,  traditions  were  still  surviving  of 
the  lectures  of  Eosler,  professor   of    history.     In  one 
of  them,  as  I  was  told  by  a  fellow  of  the  college  who 
had  heard  it,  the  old  cynical  skeptic  said,  '  As  regards 
the  Maid  of  Orleans,  I  conclude  she  was  a  cow  girl, 
and  was,  moreover,  on  a  very  friendly  footing  with  the 


26  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

young  officers.'  Another  time  he  said,  '  Homer  was 
a  bhnd  schoolmaster  and  wandering  minstrel,  and  I 
cannot  comprehend  the  fuss  that  is  made  about  his 
poems.' "  If  this  was  the  man  who  instructed  Schel- 
liug  and  Hegel  (1790-94),  we  may  form  some  estimate 
of  what  Goethe  would  have  heard  forty  years  earher. 

One  thing,  however,  he  did  learn  at  school,  and  that 
was  disgust  at  schools.  He,  carefully  trained  at  liome, 
morally  as  well  as  physically,  had  to  mingle  with 
schoolboys  who  were  what  most  schoolboys  are, — 
dirty,  rebellious,  cruel,  low  in  their  tastes  and  habits. 
The  contrast  was  very  painful  to  him,  and  he  was  glad 
when  the  completion  of  liis  father's  house  once  more 
enabled  him  to  receive  instruction  at  home. 

One  school  anecdote  he  relates  which  well  illustrates 
his  power  of  self-command.  Fighting  during  school- 
time  was  severely  punished.  One  day  the  teacher  did 
not  arrive  at  the  appointed  time.  The  boys  played  to- 
gether till  the  hour  was  nearly  over,  and  then  three  of 
them,  left  alone  with  Wolfgang,  resolved  to  drive  him 
away.  They  cut  up  a  broom,  and  reappeared  with  the 
switches.  "  I  saw  their  design,  but  I  at  once  resolved 
not  to  resist  them  till  the  clock  struck.  They  began 
pitilessly  lashing  my  legs.  I  did  not  stir,  although  the 
pain  made  the  minutes  terribly  long.  My  wrath  deep- 
ened with  my  endurance,  and  on  the  first  stroke  of  the 
hour  I  grasped  one  of  my  assailants  by  the  hair  and 
hurled  him  to  the  ground,  pressing  my  knee  on  his 
back ;  I  drew  the  head  of  the  second,  who  attacked  me 
behind,  umler  my  arm  and  nearly  tlirottled  him ;  with 
a  dexterous  twist  I  threw  the  third  flat  on  the  ground. 
Tliey  bit,  scratched,  and  kicked,  liut  my  soul  was 
swelhng  with  one  feeling  of  revenge,  and  I  knocked 
their  licads  together  without  mercy.  A  shout  of  mur- 
der bmught  the  household  round  us.  But  the  scattered 
switches  and  my  bleeding  legs  bore  witness  to  my 
story." 


CHAPTER  III. 

EARLY    EXPERIENCES. 

It  is  profoundly  false  to  say  that  "  Character  is 
formed  by  Circumstance,"  unless  the  phrase,  with 
unphilosophic  equivocation,  include  the  whole  com- 
plexity of  circumstances,  from  Creation  downwards. 
Character  is  to  outward  Circumstance  what  the  Organ- 
ism is  to  the  outward  world :  living  in  it,  but  not 
specially  determined  hy  it.  A  wondrous  variety  of 
vegetable  and  animal  organisms  live  and  flourish  under 
circumstances  which  furnish  the  means  of  living,  but 
do  not  determine  the  specific  forms  of  each  organism. 
In  the  same  way  various  characters  live  under  iclentical 
circumstances,  nourished  by  them,  not  formed  by  them. 
Each  character  assimilates,  from  surrounding  circum- 
stance, that  which  is  by  it  assimilable,  rejectmg  the 
rest ;  just  as  from  the  earth  and  air  the  plant  draws 
those  elements  which  will  serve  it  as  food,  rejecting  the 
rest.  Every  biologist  knows  that  circumstance  has  a 
modifying  influence ;  but  he  also  knows  that  modifica- 
tions are  only  possible  within  certain  limits.  Abun- 
dance of  food  and  peculiar  treatment  will  modify  the 
ferocity  of  a  wild  beast ;  but  it  will  not  make  the  lion 
a  lamb.  I  have  known  a  cat,  living  at  a  mill,  from 
abundance  of  fish  food  take  spontaneously  to  the 
water ;  but  the  cat  was  distinctively  a  cat,  and  not  an 
otter,  although  she  had  lost  her  dread  of  water. 
Goethe  truly  says  that  if  Raphael  were  to  paint  peas- 
ants at  an  inn  he  could  not  help  making  them  look 
like  Apostles,  whereas  Teniers  would  make  his  Apos- 


28  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

ties  look  like  Dutch  boors  ;  each  artist  working  accord- 
ing to  his  own  inborn  genius. 

Instead,  therefore,  of  saying  that  man  is  the  crea- 
ture of  circumstance,  it  would  be  nearer  the  mark  to 
say  that  man  is  the  architect  of  circumstance.  It  is 
character  which  builds  an  existence  out  of  circum- 
stance. Our  strength  is  measured  by  our  plastic 
power.  From  the  same  materials  one  man  builds 
palaces,  another  hovels,  one  warehouses,  another  villas ; 
bricks  and  mortar  are  mortar  and  bricks,  until  the 
architect  can  make  them  something  else.  Thus  it  is 
that  in  the  same  family,  in  the  same  circumstances, 
one  man  rears  a  stately  edifice,  while  his  brother, 
vacillating  and  incompetent,  lives  for  ever  amid  ruins  : 
the  block  of  granite  which  was  an  obstacle  on  the 
pathway  of  the  weak,  becomes  a  stepping-stone  on 
the  pathway  of  the  strong.^ 

If  the  reader  agrees  with  this  conception  of  the  in- 
fluence of  circumstances,  he  will  see  that  I  was  justi- 
fied in  laying  some  stress  on  Goethe's  social  position, 
though  I  controverted  Viehoff  and  Gervinus  on  the 
point  of  school  education.  The  contraued  absence  of 
"Want  is  one  of  those  permanent  and  powerful  condi- 
tions which  necessarily  modify  a  character.  The  well- 
fed  mastiff  loses  his  ferocity.  But  the  temporary  and 
incidental  effect  of  school  education,  and  other  circum- 
stances of  minor  importance,  can  never  be  said  to 
modify  a  character ;  they  only  more  or  less  accelerate 
its  development. 


'The  greatness  or  thesmallncss  of  a  man  is  determined  for  him 
at  his  birth,  as  strictly  as  it  is  determined  for  a  fruit,  whether  it 
is  to  be  a  currant  or  an  apricot.  Education,  favourable  circum- 
stances, resolution,  industry,  may  do  much,  in  a  certain  sense 
they  do  evcrythinrj ;  that  is  to  say,  they  determine  whether  the 
poor  apricot  shall  fail  in  the  form  of  a  green  bead,  blighted  by  the 
east  wind,  and  be  trodden  under  foot  ;  or  whether  it  shall  expand 
into  tender  pride  and  sweet  brightness  of  golden  velvet.  — Rus- 
kin,  "  Mftdrrn  Painters,'''  iii.  p.  44. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  29 

Goethe  furnishes  us  with  a  striking  illustration  of 
the  degree  in  which  outward  circumstances  affect 
character.  He  became  early  the  favourite  of  several 
eminent  painters,  was  constantly  in  their  ateliers,  play- 
ing with  them,  and  making  them  explain  their  works 
to  him.  He  was,  moreover,  a  frequent  visitor  at  picture 
sales  and  galleries,  till  at  last  his  mind  became  so 
familiarised  with  the  subjects  treated  by  artists,  that 
he  could  at  once  tell  what  historical  or  Biblical  subject 
was  represented  in  every  painting  he  saw.  Indeed,  his 
imagination  was  so  stimulated  by  familiarity  with  these 
works,  that  in  his  tenth  or  eleventh  year  he  wrote  a 
description  of  twelve  possible  pictures  on  the  history 
of  Joseph,  and  some  of  his  conceptions  were  thought 
worthy  of  being  executed  by  artists  of  renown.  It 
may  be  further  added,  in  anticipation,  that  during  the 
whole  of  his  life  he  was  thrown  nmch  with  painters  and 
pictures,  and  was  for  many  years  tormented  with  the 
desire  of  becoming  an  artist.  If,  therefore.  Circum- 
stance had  the  power  of  forming  talent,  we  ought  to 
find  him  a  painter.  What  is  the  fact  ?  The  fact  is 
that  he  had  not  the  talent  which  makes  a  painter ;  he 
had  no  faculty,  properly  speaking,  for  plastic  art ;  and 
years  of  labour,  aided  by  the  instruction  and  counsel 
of  the  best  masters,  were  powerless  to  give  him  even  a 
respectable  facility.  All  therefore  that  Circumstance 
did  in  this  case  was  to  give  his  other  faculties  the 
opportunity  of  exercising  themselves  in  art ;  it  did  not 
create  the  special  talent  required.  Circumstance  can 
create  no  talent :  it  is  food,  not  nutrition :  stinmlus, 
not  organ. 

Other  boys,  besides  Goethe,  heard  the  Lisbon  earth- 
quake eagerly  discussed ;  but  they  had  not  their 
religious  doubts  awakened  by  it,  as  his  were  awakened 
in  his  sixth  year.  This  catastrophe,  which,  in  1755, 
spread  consternation  over  Europe,  he  has  described  as 
having   greatly    perturbed    him.       The    narratives  he 


so  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

heard  of  a  magnificent  capital  suddenly  smitten  — 
churches,  houses,  towers,  falUng  with  a  crash  —  the 
bursting  land  vomiting  flames  and  smoke  —  and  sixty- 
thousand  souls  perishing  in  an  instant  —  shook  his 
faith  in  tlie  beneficence  of  Providence.  "  God,  the 
creator  and  preserver  of  heaven  and  earth,"  he  says, 
"  whom  the  first  article  of  our  creed  declared  to  be 
so  wise  and  benignant,  had  not  displayed  paternal  care 
in  thus  consigning  both  the  just  and  the  unjust  to  the 
same  destruction.  In  vain  my  young  mind  strove  to 
resist  these  impressions.  It  was  impossible  ;  the  more 
so  as  the  wise  and  religious  themselves  could  not  agree 
upon  the  \dew  to  be  taken  of  the  event." 

At  this  very  time  Voltaire  was  agitating  the  same 
doubts. 

"  Direz-vons,  en  voyant  cet  amas  de  victimes  : 
Dieu  s'est  \eng6,  leur  mort  est  le  prix  de  leurs  crimes? 
Quel  crime,  quelle  faute  ont  commis  ces  enfans 
Sur  le  seiu  materuel  6cras6s  et  sanglans  ? 
Lisboune  qui  n'est  plus,  eut-elle  plus  de  vices 
Que  Loiulres,  i\ue  Paris,  ploughs  dans  les  delices? 
Lisboune  est  abim^e  ;  et  Ton  danse  a  Paris." 

We  are  not,  however,  to  suppose  that  the  child  rushed 
hastily  to  such  a  conclusion.  He  debated  it  in  his 
own  mind  as  he  heard  it  debated  around  him.  Bettina 
records  that  on  his  coming  one  day  from  church,  where 
he  had  listened  to  a  sermon  on  the  subject,  in  which 
God's  goodness  was  justified,  his  father  asked  him  wliat 
impression  the  sermon  had  made.  "  Why,"  said  he, 
"  it  may  after  all  be  a  much  simpler  matter  than  the 
clergyman  thinks ;  God  knows  very  well  that  an 
immortal  soul  can  receive  no  injury  from  a  mortal 
accident." 

noul)ts  once  raised  would  of  course  recur,  and  the 
child  began  to  settle  into  a  serious  disbehef  in  the  be- 
nignity of  Providence,  learning  to  consider  God  as  the 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  31 


wrathful  Deity  depicted  by  the  Hebrews.  This  was 
streugtliened  by  the  foolish  conduct  of  those  around 
him,  who,  on  the  occasion  of  a  terrible  thunder-storm 
which  shattered  the  windows,  dragged  him  and  his 
sister  into  a  dark  passage, "  where  the  whole  household, 
distracted  with  fear,  tried  to  conciliate  the  angry  Deity 
by  frightful  groans  and  prayers."  Many  children  are 
thus  made  skeptics. 

The  doubts  which  troubled  Wolfgang  gradually  sub- 
sided. In  his  family  circle  he  was  the  silent  reflective 
listener  to  constant  theological  debates.  The  various 
sects  separating  from  the  estabhshed  church  all  seemed 
to  be  animated  by  the  one  desire  of  approaching  the 
Deity,  especially  through  Christ,  more  nearly  than 
seemed  possible  through  the  ancient  forms.  It  occurred 
to  liini  that  he,  also,  might  make  such  an  approach,  and 
in  a  more  direct  way.  Unable  to  ascribe  a  form  to 
the  Deity,  he  "  resolved  to  seek  him  in  his  works,  and 
in  the  good  old  Bible  fashion,  to  build  an  altar  to 
Him."  For  this  purpose  he  selected  some  types,  such 
as  ores  and  other  natural  productions,  and  arranged  them 
in  symbolical  order  on  the  ranges  of  a  music  stand  ;  on 
the  apex  was  to  be  a  flame  typical  of  the  soul's  aspira- 
tion, and  for  this  a  pastille  did  duty.  Sunrise  was 
awaited  with  impatience.  The  glittering  of  the  house- 
tops gave  signal ;  he  applied  a  burning-glass  to  the 
pastille,  and  thus  was  the  worship  consummated  by  a 
priest  of  seven  years  old,  alone  in  his  bedroom !  ^ 

Lest  the  trait  just  cited  should  make  us  forget  that 
we  are  tracing  the  career  of  a  child,  it  may  be  well  to 
recall  the  anecdote  related  by  Bettiua,  who  had  it  from 
his  mother  ;  it  will  serve  to  set  us  right  as  to  the 
childishness.       One  day  his  mother,  seeing  him  from 

^A  similar  auecdote  is  related  of  himself  by  that  strange 
Romancist,  once  the  idol  of  his  day,  and  now  almost  entirely  for- 
gotten, Restif  de  la  Bretouue.  —  See  "  Les  Illumines,''''  par  Gerard 
de  Nerval. 


32  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

her  window  cross  the  street  with  his  comrades,  was 
amused  with  the  gravity  of  his  carriage,  and  asked, 
laughingly,  if  he  meant  thereby  to  distinguish  himself 
from  his  companions.  The  little  fellow  replied,  "  I  he- 
gin  with  this.  Later  on  in  life  I  shall  distinguish  my- 
self in  far  other  ways." 

On  another  occasion  he  plagued  her  with  questions 
as  to  whether  the  stars  would  perform  all  they  had 
promised  at  his  birth.  "  Why,"  said  she,  "  must  you 
have  the  assistance  of  the  stars,  when  other  people  get 
on  very  well  without  ? "  "I  am  not  to  be  satisfied  uith 
what  does  for  other  people ! "  said  the  juvenile  Jupiter. 

He  had  just  attained  liis  seventh  year  when  the 
Seven  Years'  War  broke  out.  His  grandfather  espoused 
the  cause  of  Austria,  his  father  that  of  Frederick. 
This  difference  of  opinion  brought  with  it  contentions, 
and  finally  separation  between  the  famihes.  The  ex- 
ploits of  the  Prussian  army  were  enthusiastically  cited 
on  the  one  side  and  depreciated  on  the  other.  It  was  an 
all-absorbing  topic,  awakening  passionate  partisanship. 
Men  looked  with  strange  feehngs  on  the  struggle  which 
the  greatest  captain  of  his  age  was  maintaining  against 
Russia,  Austria,  and  France.  The  ruler  of  not  more 
than  five  milHons  of  men  was  fighting  unaided  against 
the  rulers  of  more  than  a  hundred  millions ;  and,  in 
spite  of  liis  alleged  violation  of  honour,  it  was  difficult 
to  hear  without  enthusiasm  of  his  brilliant  exploits. 
Courage  and  genius  in  desperate  circumstances  always 
awaken  sympathy  ;  and  men  paused  not  to  ask  what 
justification  there  was  for  the  seizure  of  Silesia,  nor 
why  the  Saxon  standards  drooped  in  the  churches  of 
Berlin.  The  roar  of  victorious  cannon  stunned  the 
judgment;  the  intrepid  general  was  blindly  wor- 
shipped. The  Seven  Years'  War  soon  became  a  Ger- 
man epos.  Archenholtz  wrote  its  history  (1791);  and 
this  work  —  noisy  witli  guard-room  bragging  and  folly, 
the  rant  of  a  miles  gloriosus  turned  philosophc  —  was 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  33 

nevertheless  received  with  enthusiasm,  was  translated 
into  Latin,  and  read  in  schools  in  company  with  Tacitus 
and  Ca'sar. 

This  Seven  Years'  War  was  a  circumstance  from 
which,  as  it  is  thought,  Goethe  ought  to  have  received 
some  epic  inspiration.  He  received  from  it  precisely 
that  which  was  food  to  his  character.  He  caught  the 
grand  enthusiasm,  but,  as  he  says,  it  was  th.Q,  personality 
of  the  hero,  rather  than  the  greatness  of  his  cause, 
which  made  him  rejoice  in  every  victory,  copy  the 
songs  of  triumph,  and  the  lampoons  directed  against 
Austria.  He  learnt  now  the  effects  of  party  spirit. 
At  the  table  of  his  grandfather  he  had  to  hear  galling 
sarcasms,  and  vehement  declamations  showered  on  his 
hero.  He  heard  Frederick  "  shamefully  slandered." 
"  And  as  in  my  sixth  year,  after  the  Lisbon  earthquake, 
I  doubted  the  beneficence  of  Providence,  so  now,  on 
account  of  Frederick,  I  began  to  doubt  the  justice  of 
the  world." 

Over  the  doorway  of  the  house  in  which  he  was 
born  was  a  lyre  and  a  star,  announcing,  as  every  inter- 
preter will  certify,  that  a  poet  was  to  make  that  house 
illustrious.  The  poetic  faculty  early  manifested  itself. 
We  have  seen  him  inventmg  conclusions  for  his 
mother's  stories ;  and  as  he  gi-ew  older  he  began  to  in- 
vent stories  for  the  amusement  of  his  playfellows,  after 
he  had  filled  his  mind  with  images  — 

"  Lone  sitting  on  the  shores  of  old  Romance." 

He  had  read  the  "  Orbis  Pictus,"  Ovid's  "  Metamor- 
phoses," Homer's  Iliad  in  prose,  Virgil  in  the  original, 
"  Telemachus,"  "  Piobinson  Crusoe,"  "  Anson's  Voyages," 
with  such  books  as  "  Fortunatus,"  "  The  Wandering 
Jew,"  "  The  Four  Sons  of  Aymon,"  etc.  He  also  read 
and  learned  by  heart  most  of  the  poets  of  that  day  : 
Gellert,  Haller,  who  had  really  some  gleams  of  poetry ; 


34  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

and  Canitz,  Hagedorn,  Drollinger,  —  writers  then  much 
beloved,  now  slumbering  upon  dusty  shelves,  unvisited 
except  by  an  occasional  historian,  and  by  spiders  of  an 
inquiring  mind. 

Not  only  did  he  tell  stories,  he  wrote  them  also,  as 
we  gather  from  a  touching  little  anecdote  preserved  by 
Bettina.  The  smallpox  had  carried  off  his  little 
brother  Jacob.  To  the  surprise  of  liis  mother,  Wolf- 
gang shed  no  tears,  beheving  Jacob  to  be  with  God  in 
heaven.  "  Did  you  not  love  your  little  brother,  then," 
asked  his  mother,  "that  you  do  not  grieve  for  his 
loss  ? "  He  ran  to  his  room,  and  from  under  the  bed 
drew  a  quantity  of  papers  on  which  he  had  written 
stories  and  lessons.  "  I  had  written  all  these  that  I 
misht  teach  them  to  him,"  said  the  child.  He  was 
then  nine  years  old. 

Shortly  before  the  death  of  his  brother  he  was 
startled  by  the  sound  of  the  warder's  trumpet  from 
tlie  chief  tower,  announcing  the  approach  of  troops. 
This  was  in  January,  1759.  On  came  the  troops  in 
continuous  masses,  and  the  rolhng  tumult  of  their 
drums  called  all  the  women  to  the  windows,  and  all  the 
boys  in  admiring  crowds  into  the  streets.  The  troops 
were  French.  They  seized  the  guard-house ;  and  in  a 
little  while  the  city  was  a  camp.  To  make  matters 
worse,  these  troops  were  at  war  with  Frederick,  whom 
Wolfgang  and  his  father  worshipped.  They  were  soon 
billeted  through  the  town  ;  and  things  relapsed  into 
tlieir  usual  routine,  varied  by  a  military  occupation. 
In  the  Goethe  house  an  important  ])erson  was  quartered, 
—  Count  de  Thorane,  the  king's  lieutenant,  a  man  of 
taste  and  munificence,  who  assembled  around  him 
artists  and  celebrities,  and  won  the  aifectionate  admira- 
tion of  Wolfgang,  thotigli  lie  failed  to  overcome  the 
hatred  of  the  old  councillor. 

This  occu]iation  of  Frankfort  brought  with  it  many 
advantages    to    Goethe.      It    relaxed    the    severity    of 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  35 

paternal  book  education,  and  began  another  kind  of 
tuition,  —  that  of  life  and  manners.  The  perpetual 
marching  through  the  streets,  the  brilliant  parades,  the 
music,  the  "  pomp,  pride,  and  circumstance  "  were  not 
without  their  influence.  Moreover,  he  now  gained  con- 
versational familiarity  with  French,^  and  acquaintance 
with  the  theatre.  The  French  nation  always  carries  its 
"  civilisation  "  with  it,  —  namely,  a  caf^  and  a  tlieatre. 
In  Frankfort  both  were  immediately  opened ;  and  Goethe 
was  presented  with  a  "  free  admission  "  to  the  theatre, 
a  privilege  he  used  daily,  not  always  understanding,  but 
always  enjoying  what  he  saw.  In  tragedy  the  measured 
rhythm,  slow  utterance,  and  abstract  language  enabled 
him  to  understand  the  play  better  than  he  understood 
comedy,  wherein  tlie  language,  besides  moving  amid 
the  details  of  private  hfe,  was  also  more  rapidly 
spoken.  But  at  the  theatre,  boys  are  not  criti- 
cal, and  do  not  need  to  understand  a  play  in  order  to 
enjoy  it.^  A  Raciiie,  found  upon  his  father's  shelves, 
was  eagerly  studied,  and  the  speeches  were  declaimed 
with  more  or  less  appreciation  of  their  meaning. 

The  theatre,  and  acquaintance  with  a  chattering 
Uttle  braggart,  named  Derones,  gave  him  such  famihar- 
ity  with  the  language,  that  in  a  month  he  surprised  his 
parents  with  his  facility.     This  Derones  was  acquainted 

1  He  says  that  he  hai  never  learned  French  before  ;  but  this  is 
erroneous,  as  his  exercises  prove. 

-  Well  do  I  remember,  as  a  child  of  the  same  age,  my  inten.se 
delight  at  the  French  theatre,  although  certainly  no  three  consecu- 
tive phrases  could  have  been  understood  by  me.  Nay,  so  great 
was  this  delight,  that  although  we  regarded  the  French  custom, 
of  opening  theatres  on  Sunday,  with  the  profoundest  sense  of  its 
"wickedness,"  the  attraction  became  irresistible:  and  one  Sun- 
day night,  at  Nantes,  my  brother  and  I  stole  into  the  theatre  with 
pricking  consciences.  To  this  day  I  see  the  actors  gesticulating, 
and  hear  the  audience  cry  his!  bis!  rederaauding  a  couplet  (in 
which  we  joined  with  a  stout  British  encore !)  ;  and  to  this  day  I 
remember  how  we  laughed  at  what  we  certainly  understood  oidy 
in  passing  glimpses.  Goethe's  ignorance  of  the  language  was, 
I  am  sure,  no  obstacle  to  his  enjoyment. 


36  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

\\-ith  the  actors,  and  introduced  him  "  behind  the 
scenes."  At  ten  years  of  age  to  go  "  behind  the 
scenes"  means  a  great  deal.  We  shall  see  hereafter 
how  early  he  was  introduced  behind  the  scenes  of  life. 
For  the  present  let  it  be  noted  that  he  was  a  frequenter 
of  the  greenroom,  and  admitted  into  the  dressing-room 
where  the  actors  and  actresses  dressed  and  undressed 
with  philosophic  disregard  to  appearances;  and  this, 
from  repeated  visits,  he  also  learned  to  regard  as  quite 
natural. 

A  grotesque  scene  took  place  between  these  two 
boys.  Derones  excelled,  as  he  affirmed,  in  "  affairs  of 
honour."  He  had  been  engaged  in  several,  and  had 
always  managed  to  disarm  his  antagonist,  and  then 
nobly  forgive  him.  One  day  he  pretended  that  Wolf- 
gang had  insulted  him :  satisfaction  was  peremptorily 
demanded,  and  a  duel  was  the  result.  Imagine  Wolf- 
gang, aged  twelve,  arrayed  in  shoes  and  silver  buckles, 
fine  woollen  stockings,  dark  serge  breeches,  green  coat 
with  gold  facings,  a  waistcoat  of  gold  cloth,  cut  out  of  his 
father's  wedding  waistcoat,  his  hair  curled  and  powdered, 
his  hat  under  his  arm,  and  httle  sword  with  silk  sword- 
knot.  Tliis  little  mannikin  stands  opposite  his  antag- 
onist with  theatrical  formality  ;  swords  clash,  thrusts 
come  quick  upon  each  other,  the  combat  grows  hot 
when  the  point  of  Deroues's  rapier  lodges  in  the  bow  of 
Wolfgang's  sword-knot ;  hereupon  the  French  boy,  with 
great  magnanimity,  declares  that  he  is  satisfied  !  The 
two  embrace,  and  retire  to  a  caf^  to  refresh  themselves 
witli  a  glass  of  almond  milk.^ 

Theatrical  ambition,  whicli  stirs  ns  all,  soon  prompted 
Wolfgang.  As  a  child  he  had  imitated  Terence  ;  he 
was  now  to  make  a  more  elaborate  efibrt  in  the  stvle 
of  Piron.     When  the  play  was  completed  he  submitted 

*  To  remove  increilulity,  it  may  be  well  to  remind  the  reader 
that  to  tills  day  German  youths  tight  out  their  quarrels  with 
swords  —  not  fists. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  37 

it  to  Derones,  who,  pointing  out  several  grammatical 
blunders,  promised  to  examine  it  more  critically,  and 
talked  of  giving  it  his  support  with  the  manager. 
Wolfgang  saw,  in  his  mind's  eye,  the  name  of  his  play 
already  placarded  at  the  corners  of  the  street !  Un- 
happily, Derones  in  his  critical  capacity  was  merciless. 
He  picked  the  play  to  pieces,  and  stunned  the  poor 
author  with  the  critical  jargon  of  that  day  ;  proclaimed 
the  absolute  integrity  of  the  Three  Unities,  abused  the 
English,  laughed  at  the  Germans,  and  maintained  the 
sovereignty  of  French  taste  in  so  confident  a  style,  that 
his  listener  was  without  a  reply.  If  silenced,  however, 
he  was  not  convinced.  It  set  him  thinking  on  those 
critical  canons.  He  studied  the  treatise  on  the  Unities 
by  Corneille,  and  the  prefaces  of  Racine.  The  result 
of  these  studies  was  profound  contempt  for  that 
system ;  and  it  is,  perhaps,  to  Derones  that  we  owe 
something  of  the  daring  defiance  of  all  "  rule,"  which 
startled  Germany  in  "  Gotz  von  Berlichingen." 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

VARIOUS    STUDIES. 

At  length,  June,  1761,  the  French  quitted  Frank- 
fort ;  and  studies  were  seriously  resumed.  Mathe- 
matics, music,  and  drawing  were  commenced  under 
paternal  superintendence.  For  mathematics  Wolf- 
gang had  no  aptitude ;  for  music  little ;  he  learned 
to  play  on  the  harpsichord,  and  subsequently  on  the 
violoncello,  but  he  never  attained  any  proficiency. 
Drawing  continued  through  life  a  pleasant  exercise. 

Left  now  to  the  calm  of  uninterrupted  studies,  he 
made  gigantic  strides.  Even  the  hours  of  recreation 
were  filled  with  some  useful  occupation.  He  added 
English  to  his  polyglot  store ;  and  to  keep  up  his 
several  languages,  he  invented  a  Romance,  wherein  six 
or  seven  brothers  and  sisters  scattered  over  tlie  world 
corresponded  with  each  other.  The  eldest  describes  in 
good  German  all  the  incidents  of  his  travels ;  his  sister 
answers  in  womanly  style  with  short  sharp  sentences, 
and  nothing  but  full  stops,  much  as  "  Siegwart"  was  after- 
ward written.  Another  brother  studies  theology,  and 
therefore  wi'ites  in  Latin,  with  postcripts  in  Greek.  A 
third  and  a  fourth,  clerks  at  Hamburg  and  Marseilles, 
take  Enghsh  and  French ;  Italian  is  given  to  a  musi- 
cian ;  wliilc  the  youngest,  who  remains  at  home,  writes 
in  Jew-German.  This  romance  led  him  to  a  more 
accurate  study  of  geography.  Having  placed  his 
characters  in  various  parts  of  tlie  globe,  he  was  not 
satisfied  till  he  had  a  distinct  idea  of  these  locahties,  so 
that  the  objects  and  events  should  be  consonant  with 

38 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  39 

probability.  While  trying  to  master  the  strange  dia- 
lect —  Jew-German  —  he  was  led  to  the  study  of 
Hebrew.  As  the  original  language  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment this  seemed  to  him  an  indispensable  acquisition. 
His  father  consented  to  give  him  a  Hebrew  master  ; 
and  although  he  attained  no  scholarship  in  that  diffi- 
cult language,  yet  the  reading,  translating,  and  commit- 
ting to  memory  of  various  parts  of  the  Bible  brought 
out  the  meaning  more  vividly  before  him  ;  as  every 
one  will  understand  who  compares  the  lasting  effect 
produced  by  the  laborious  school  reading  of  Sallust 
and  Livy  with  the  facile  reading  of  Robertson  and 
Hume.  The  Bible  made  a  profound  impression  upon 
him.  To  a  boy  of  his  constitutional  reflectiveness,  the 
severe  study  of  this  book  could  not  fail  to  exercise  a 
deep  and  permeating  influence  ;  nor,  at  the  same  time, 
in  one  so  accustomed  to  think  for  himself,  could  it  fail 
to  awaken  certain  doubts.  "The  contradiction,"  he 
says,  "between  the  actual  or  possible,  and  tradition, 
forcibly  arrested  me.  I  often  posed  my  tutors  with  the 
sun  standing  still  on  Gideon,  and  the  moon  in  the 
valley  of  A  jalon  ;  not  to  mention  other  incongruities  and 
impossibilities.  All  my  doubts  were  now  awakened,  as 
in  order  to  master  the  Hebrew  I  studied  the  literal 
version  by  Schmidt,  printed  under  the  text." 

One  result  of  these  Hebrew  studies  was  a  Biblical 
poem  on  Joseph  and  his  brethren ;  which  he  dictated 
to  a  poor  half  idiot  who  lived  in  his  father's  house,  and 
who  had  a  mania  for  copying  or  writing  under  dicta- 
tion. Goethe  soon  found  the  process  of  dictation  of 
great  service  ;  and  through  life  it  continued  to  be  his 
favourite  mode  of  composition.  All  his  best  thoughts 
and  expressions,  he  says,  came  to  him  while  walking ; 
he  could  do  nothing  seated. 

To  these  multifarious  studies  in  Literature  must  be 
added  multifarious  studies  of  Life.  The  old  Frankfort 
city  with  its  busy  crowds,  its  fairs,  its  mixed  population. 


40  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

and  its  many  sources  of  excitement,  offered  great 
temptations,  and  great  pasture  to  so  desultory  a  genius. 
This  is  perhaps  a  case  wherein  Circumstance  may  be 
seen  influencing  the  direction  of  Character.  A  boy  of 
less  impressionable  nature,  of  less  many-sided  curi- 
osity, would  have  lived  in  such  a  city  undisturbed ; 
some  eyes  would  see  little  of  the  variety,  some 
minds  would  be  unsohcited  by  the  exciting  objects. 
But  Goethe's  desultory,  because  impulsive,  nature  found 
continual  excitement  in  fresh  objects  ;  and  he  was  thus 
led  to  study  many  tilings,  to  grasp  at  many  forms  of 
life,  instead  of  concentrating  himself  upon  a  few.  A 
large  continuity  of  thought  and  effort  was  perhaps 
radically  uncongenial  to  such  a  temperament ;  yet  one 
cannot  help  speculating  whether  under  other  circum- 
stances he  might  not  have  achieved  it.  Had  he  been 
reared  in  a  quiet  httle  old  German  town,  where  he 
would  have  daily  seen  the  same  faces  in  the  silent 
streets,  and  come  in  contact  with  the  same  characters, 
his  culture  might  have  been  less  various,  but  it  might 
perhaps  have  been  deeper.  Had  he  been  reared  in  the 
country,  with  only  the  changing  seasons  and  the  sweet 
serenities  of  Nature  to  occupy  his  attention  when 
released  from  study,  he  would  certainly  have  been  a 
different  poet.  The  long  summer  afternoons  spent  in 
lonely  rambles,  the  deepening  twilights  filled  with 
shadowy  visions,  the  slow  uniformity  of  his  external 
hfe  necessarily  throwing  him  more  and  more  upon  the 
subtle  diversities  of  inward  experience,  would  inevitably 
have  influenced  his  genius  in  quite  different  directions, 
would  have  animated  his  works  with  a  very  different 
spirit.  Yet  who  shall  say  that  to  him  this  would  have 
been  all  gain  ?  Who  shall  say  that  it  would  not  have 
been  a  loss  ?  For  such  an  organisation  as  his  the  life  he 
led  was  perhaps  the  very  best.  He  was  desultory,  and 
the  varieties  of  objects  which  solicited  his  attention, 
while  they  helped  to  encourage  that  tendency,  also 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  41 

helped  to  uourish  his  mind  with  images  such  as  after- 
ward became  the  richest  material  for  his  art. 

At  any  rate,  it  is  idle  to  speculate  on  what  would 
have  been ;  we  must  concern  ourselves  with  what  was. 
The  boy  saw  much  of  life,  in  the  lower  as  in  the  upper 
classes.  He  passed  from  the  society  of  the  Count  de 
Thorane,  and  of  the  artists  whom  the  count  assembled 
round  him  (from  whom  the  boy  learnt  something  of 
the  technical  details  of  painting),  to  the  society  of  the 
Jews  in  the  strange,  old,  filthy,  but  deeply  interesting 
Judcngassc  ;  or  to  that  of  various  artisans,  in  whose 
shops  his  curiosity  found  perpetual  food.  The  Jews 
were  doubly  interesting  to  him :  as  social  pariahs,  over 
whom  there  hovered  a  mingled  mystery  of  terror  and 
contempt,  and  as  descendants  of  the  Chosen  People, 
who  preserved  the  language,  the  opinions,  and  many 
of  the  customs  of  the  old  Bibhcal  race.  He  was  im- 
pressed by  their  adherence  to  old  customs ;  by  their 
steadfastness  and  courageous  activity  ;  by  their  strange 
features  and  accents,  by  their  bright  cleverness  and 
good  nature.  The  pretty  Jewish  maidens,  also,  smiled 
agreeably  upon  him.  He  began  to  mingle  with  them  ; 
managed  to  get  permission  to  attend  some  of  their 
ceremonies  ;  and  attended  their  schools.  As  to  artisans, 
he  was  all  his  Ufe  curious  about  their  handicrafts,  and 
fond  of  being  admitted  into  their  family  circles.  Scott 
himself  was  not  fonder  of  talking  to  one ;  nor  did  Scott 
make  better  use  of  such  manifold  experience.  Fred- 
erika's  sister  told  a  visitor  that  Goethe  knew  several 
handicrafts,  and  had  even  learned  basket-making  from 
a  lame  man  in  Sesenheim.  Here  in  Frankfort  the  boy 
was  welcome  in  many  a  shop.  The  jeweller,  Lauten- 
sack,  gladly  admitted  him  to  witness  the  mysteries  of 
his  art,  while  he  made  the  bouquet  of  jewels  for  the 
Kaiser,  or  a  diamond  snuff-box  which  Rath  Goethe  had 
ordered  as  a  present  for  his  wife  ;  the  boy  eagerly  ques- 
tioning him  respecting  precious  stones,  and  the  engrav- 


42  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

ings  which  the  jeweller  possessed.  Nothnagel,  the 
painter,  had  established  an  oilcloth  manufactory ;  and 
the  boy  not  only  learned  all  the  processes,  but  lent  a 
helping  hand. 

Besides  these  forms  of  hfe,  there  were  others  whose 
influence  must  not  be  overlooked ;  one  of  these  brings 
before  us  the  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg,  of  whom  we 
first  get  a  glimpse  in  connection  with  his  confirmation, 
wMch  took  place  at  tliis  period,  1763.  The  readers  of 
"  Wilhelm  Meister  "  are  familiar  with  this  gentle  and  ex- 
quisite character,  where  she  is  represented  in  the  "  Con- 
fessions of  a  Beautiful  Soul,"  ^  In  the  "  Confessions  " 
we  see  that  the  "  piety  "  and  retirement  are  represented 
less  as  the  consequences  of  evangehcal  illumination  than 
of  moral  serenity  and  purity  shrinking  from  contact 
with  a  world  of  which  it  has  been  her  fate  to  see  the 
coarsest  features.  The  real  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg 
it  is  perhaps  now  impossible  to  separate  from  the  ideal 
so  beautifully  painted  by  Goethe.  On  him  her  influ- 
ence was  avowedly  very  great,  both  at  this  period  and 
subsequently.  It  was  not  so  much  the  effect  of  relig- 
ious discussion,  as  the  experience  it  gave  Mm  of  a 
deeply  religious  nature.  She  was  neither  bigot  nor 
prude.  Her  faith  was  an  inner  light  which  slied  mild 
radiance  around  her.  ^  Moved  by  her  influence,  he 
wrote  a  series  of  "  Religious  Odes,"  after  the  fashion  of 
that  day,  and  greatly  pleased  his  father  by  presenting 
them  copied  neatly  in  a  quarto  volume.  His  father 
begged  that  every  year  he  would  present  him  with 
such  a  volume. 


1  Or  as  we  in  England,  following  Carlyle,  have  been  misled 
into  callinu  it.  the  "Confessions  of  a  Fair  Saint."  The  schnne 
Seele  —  une  belle  dme,  was  one  of  tlie  favourite  epithets  of  the  last 
century.  Goethe  applies  it  to  Klopstock,  who  was  neither  "saint 
nor  fair." 

-  In  Varnhagen  von  Ense's  "Vermi.schte  Schriften  "  (vol.  iii. 
p.  .1:])  the  reader  will  find  a  few  significant  details  respecting  this 
remarkable  person,  and  some  of  her  poems. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  43 

A  very  different  sort  of  female  influence  has  now  to 
be  touched  on.     His  heart  began  to  flutter  with  the 
emotions    of   love.     He   was    not  quite  fifteen,  when 
Gretchen,  the  sister  of  one  of  his  disreputable   com- 
panions, first  set  his  youthful  pulses  throbbing  to  the 
movements  of  the  divine  passion.     The  story  is  told  in 
a  rambling  way  in  the  Autobiography,  and  may  here 
be  very  briefly  dismissed.     He  had  often   turned  his 
poetical  talents  to  practical  purposes,  namely,  writing 
wedding   and  funeral   verses,  the   money  produce    of 
wliich  went   in    joyous   feastings.     In  these   he   was 
almost  daily  thrown  with  Gretchen ;  but  she,  though 
kind,  treated  him  as  a  child,  and  never  permitted  the 
slightest  familiarity.     A  merry  life  they  led,  in  picnics 
and  pleasure  bouts ;  and  the  coronation  of  the  Kaiser 
Joseph  II.  was  the  occasion   of  increased   festivities. 
One  night,  after  the  fatigues  of  a  sightseeing  day,  the 
hours  rolled  unheeded   over  these  thoughtless  merry 
heads,  and  the  stroke  of  midnight  startled  them.     To 
his  dismay,  Wolfgang  found  he  had  forgotten  the  door- 
key  with  which  hitherto  he  had  been  able  to  evade 
paternal  knowledge  of  his  late  hours.     Gretchen  pro- 
posed that  they  should  all  remain  together,  and  pass 
the  night  in  conversation.     This  was  agreed  on.     But, 
as  in   all   such    cases,  the   effort   was   vain.      Fatigue 
weighed    down    their    eyelids ;    conversation    became 
feebler  and  feebler;  two  strangers  already  slumbered 
in  corners  of  the  room ;   one  friend  sat  in  a   corner 
with  his  betrothed,  her  head  reposing  on  his  shoulder ; 
another,  crossing  his  arms  upon  the  table,  rested  his 
head  upon  them  —  and  snored.     The  noisy  room  had 
become    silent.     Gretchen    and   her  lover  sat  by  the 
window    talking    in    undertones.     Fatigue    at    length 
conquered  her  also,  and  drooping  her  head  upon  his 
shoulder,  she  too  slept.    With  tender  pride  he  supported 
that  delicious  burden,  till  hke  the  rest  he  gave  way, 
and  slept. 


44  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

It  was  broad  day  when  he  awoke.  Gretchen  was 
standing  before  a  mirror  arranging  her  cap.  She  smiled 
on  him  more  amiably  than  ever  she  had  smiled  before ; 
and  pressed  his  hand  tenderly  as  he  departed.  But 
now,  while  he  seemed  drawing  nearer  to  her,  the  de- 
nouement was  at  hand.  Some  of  the  joyous  compan- 
ions had  been  guilty  of  nefarious  practices,  such  as 
forgeries  of  documents.  His  friend  and  Gretchen  were 
involved  in  the  accusation,  though  falsely.  Wolfgang 
had  to  undergo  a  severe  investigation,  which,  as  he  was 
perfectly  innocent,  did  not  much  afflict  him ;  but  an 
affliction  came  out  of  the  investigation,  for  Gretchen,  in 
her  deposition  concerning  him,  said,  "  I  will  not  deny 
that  I  have  often  seen  him,  and  seen  him  with  pleasure, 
but  I  treated  him  as  a  child,  and  my  affection  for  him 
was  merely  that  of  a  sister."  His  exasperation  may  be 
imagined.  A  boy  aspiring  to  the  dignity  of  manhood 
knows  few  things  more  galling  than  to  be  treated  as  a 
boy  by  the  girl  whom  he  has  honoured  with  his  hom- 
age. He  suffered  greatly  at  this  destruction  of  his 
romance :  nightly  was  his  pillow  wet  with  tears ;  food 
became  repugnant  to  him  ;  hfe,  he  thought,  had  no 
longer  an  object. 

But  pride  came  to  his  aid  ;  pride  and  that  volatility 
of  youth,  which  compensates  for  extra-sensitiveness  by 
extra-facility  in  forgetting.  He  threw  himself  into 
study,  especially  of  philosophy,  under  guidance  of  a 
tutor,  a  sort  of  Wagner  to  the  young  Faust.  This  tu- 
tor, who  preferred  dusty  quartos  to  all  the  landscapes 
in  the  world,  used  to  banter  him  upon  being  a  true 
German,  such  as  Tacitus  describes,  avid  of  the  emo- 
tions excited  by  solitude  and  scenery.  Laughter 
weaned  him  not  from  the  enjoyment.  He  was  en- 
joying his  first  sorrow :  the  luxury  of  melancholy,  the 
romance  of  a  forlorn  existence,  drove  him  into  solitude. 
Like  Bellerophon,  he  fed  upon  his  own  heart,  away 
from  the  haunts  of  men.     He  made  frequent  walking 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  45 

excursions.  Those  mountains  which  from  earliest  child- 
hood had  stood  so  distant,  "  haunting  him  like  a  pas- 
sion," were  now  his  favourite  resorts.  He  visited 
Homburg,  Kronburg,  Konigstein,  Wiesbaden,  Schwal- 
bach,  Biberich.  These  filled  his  mind  with  lovely 
images. 

Severer  studies  were  not  neglected.  To  please  his 
father  he  was  dihgent  in  application  to  jurisprudence ; 
to  please  himself  he  was  still  more  diligent  in  literature  ; 
Morhof's  "  Polyhistor,"  Gessner's  "  Isagoge,"  and  Bayle's 
Dictionary,  filled  him  with  the  ambition  to  become  a 
University  professor.  Herein,  as,  indeed,  throughout 
his  career,  we  see  the  strange  impressibility  of  his 
nature,  which,  like  the  fabled  chameleon,  takes  its 
colour  from  every  tree  it  lies  under. 

The  melancholy  fit  did  not  last  long.  And  he  again 
felt  a  fluttering  of  the  heart  in  the  society  of  Charity 
Meixner,  one  of  his  sister's  friends,  of  whom  we  shall 
catch  another  ghmpse  during  his  stay  at  Leipsic.  A 
circle  of  lively  friends,  among  them  Horn,  of  whom  we 
shall  hear  more  anon,  drew  him  into  gaiety  again. 
Their  opinion  of  his  talents  appears  to  have  been  enor- 
mous ;  their  love  for  him,  and  interest  in  all  he  did, 
was  of  the  kind  which  followed  him  through  life.  No 
matter  what  his  mood  — in  the  wildest  student-period, 
in  the  startling  genius-period,  and  in  the  diplomatic- 
period  —  whatever  offence  his  manner  created,  was 
soon  forgotten  in  the  irresistible  fascination  of  his 
nature.  The  secret  of  that  fascination  was  liis  own 
overflowing  lovingness,  and  Iris  genuine  interest  in 
every  individuality,  however  opposite  to  his  own. 

With  these  imperfect  glances  at  his  early  career  we 
close  this  book,  on  his  departure  from  home  for  the 
University  of  Leipsic.  Before  finally  quitting  this 
period,  we  may  take  a  survey  of  the  characteristics  it 
exhibits,  as  some  guide  in  our  future  inquiries. 


CHAPTEE  V. 

THE    CHILD    IS    FATHER    TO    THE    MAN, 

As  in  the  soft  round  lineaments  of  childhood  we 
trace  the  features  which  after  years  will  develop  into 
more  decided  forms,  so  in  the  moral  lineaments  of  the 
Child  may  be  traced  the  characteristics  of  the  Man. 
But  an  apparent  solution  of  continuity  takes  place  in 
the  transition  period,  and  the  Youth  is  in  many  respects 
unlike  what  he  has  been  in  childhood,  and  what  he 
will  be  in  maturity.  In  youth,  when  the  passions 
begin  to  stir,  the  character  is  made  to  swerve  from  the 
orbit  previously  traced.  Passion  rules  the  hour.  Thus 
we  often  see  the  prudent  child  turn  out  an  extravagant 
youth ;  but  he  crystallises  once  more  into  prudence,  as 
he  hardens  with  age. 

This  was  certainly  the  case  with  Goethe,  who,  if  he 
had  died  young,  like  Shelley  or  Keats,  would  have  left 
a  name  among  the  most  genial,  not  to  say  extravagant 
of  poets ;  but,  who,  living  to  the  age  of  eighty-two,  had 
fifty  years  of  crystalhsation  to  acquire  a  definite  figure 
which  perplexes  critics.  In  his  childhood,  scanty  as 
the  details  are  which  enable  us  to  reconstruct  it,  we  see 
the  main  features  of  the  man. 

And  first  of  his  manysidedness.  Seldom  has  a  boy 
exhibited  such  variety  of  tendencies.  The  multiplied 
activity  of  his  life  is  prefigured  in  the' varied  tendencies 
of  his  childhood.  We  see  him  as  an  orderly,  somewhat 
formal,  inquisitive,  reasoning,  deliberative  child,  a  pre- 
cocious learner,  an  omnivorous  reader,  and  a  vigorous 
logician  who  thinks  for  himself ;  so  independent,  that 

46 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  47 

at  six  jears  of  age  he  doubts  the  beneficence  of  the 
Creator,  and  at  seven,  doubts  the  competence  and  jus- 
tice of  the  world's  judgment.  He  is  inventive,  poetical, 
proud,  loving,  volatile,  with  a  mind  open  to  all  influ- 
ences, swayed  by  every  gust,  and  yet,  while  thus  swayed 
as  to  the  direction  of  his  activity,  master  over  that 
activity.  The  most  diverse  characters,  the  most  antag- 
onistic opinions  interest  him.  He  is  very  studious  :  no 
bookworm  more  so;  alternately  busy  with  languages, 
mythology,  antiquities,  law,  philosophy,  poetry,  and 
religion ;  yet  he  joins  in  all  festive  scenes,  gets  familiar 
vdth  life  in  various  forms,  and  stays  out  late  0'  nights. 
He  is  also  troubled  by  melancholy,  dreamy  moods  forc- 
ing him  ever  and  anon  into  solitude. 

Among  the  dominant  characteristics,  however,  are 
seriousness,  formality,  rationality.  He  is  by  no  means 
a  naughty  boy.  He  gives  his  parents  no  tremulous 
anxiety  as  to  "  what  will  become  of  him."  He  seems 
very  much  master  of  himself.  It  is  this  which  in 
later  years  perplexed  his  critics,  who  could  not  recon- 
cile this  appearance  of  self-mastery,  this  absence  of 
expressed  enthusiasm,  with  their  conceptions  of  a  poet. 
Assuredly  he  had  enthusiasm,  if  ever  man  had  it:  at 
least,  if  enthusiasm  (being  "  full  of  the  God  ")  means 
being  filled  with  a  sublime  idea,  and  by  its  light  work- 
ing steadily.  He  had  httle  of  the  other  kind  of  en- 
thusiasm —  that  insurrection  of  the  feelings  carrying 
away  upon  their  triumphant  shoulders  the  Reason 
which  has  no  longer  power  to  guide  them.  And  hence 
it  is  that  whereas  the  quahty  which  first  strikes  us  in 
most  poets  is  Emotion,  with  its  caprices,  infirmities,  and 
generous  errors ;  the  first  quality  which  strikes  us  in 
Goethe  —  the  Child  and  Man,  but  not  the  Youth  —  is 
Intellect,  vsrith  its  clearness  and  calmness.  He  has  also 
a  provoking  immunity  from  error.  I  say  provohing,  for 
we  all  gladly  overlook  the  errors  of  enthusiasm : 
some,  because  these  errors  appeal  to  compassion ;  and 


48  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

some,  because  these  errors  establish  a  community  of 
impulse  between  the  sinner  and  ourselves,  forming,  as 
it  were,  broken  edges  which  show  us  where  to  look  for 
support  —  scars  wliich  tell  of  wounds  we  have  escaped. 
But  we  are  pitiless  to  the  cold  prudence  which  shames 
our  weakness  and  asks  no  alms  from  our  charity. 
Why  do  we  all  preach  Prudence,  and  secretly  dislike 
it  ?  Perhaps,  because  we  dimly  feel  that  life  without 
its  generous  errors  might  want  its  lasting  enjoyments ; 
and  thus  the  very  mistakes  which  arise  from  an  im- 
prudent, unreflecting  career  are  absolved  by  that 
instinct  which  suggests  other  aims  for  existence  beyond 
prudential  aims.  This  is  one  reason  why  the  erring 
lives  of  Genius  command  such  deathless  sympathy. 

Having  indicated  so  much,  I  may  now  ask  those  who 
are  distressed  by  the  calm,  self-sustaining  superiority 
of  Goethe  in  old  age,  whether,  on  deeper  reflection,  they 
cannot  reconcile  it  with  their  conceptions  of  the  poet's 
nature  ?  We  admire  Eationahty,  but  we  sympathise 
with  Sensibihty.  Our  dislike  of  the  one  arises  from  its 
supposed  incompatibihty  with  the  other.  But  if  a 
man  unites  the  mastery  of  Will  and  Intellect  to  the 
profoundest  sensibility  of  Emotion,  shall  we  not  say  of 
him  that  he  has  in  hving  synthesis  vindicated  both 
what  we  preach  and  what  we  love  ?  That  Goethe 
united  these  will  be  abundantly  shown  in  this  biog- 
raphy. In  the  chapters  about  to  follow  we  shall  see 
him  wild,  restless,  aimless,  erring,  and  extravagant 
enough  to  satisfy  the  most  ardent  admirer  of  the  vaga- 
bond nature  of  genius  :  the  Child  and  the  ]\Ian  will  at 
times  be  scarcely  traceable  in  the  Youth. 

One  trait  must  not  be  passed  over,  namely,  his  want 
of  patience,  whicli,  while  it  prevented  his  ever 
tlioroughly  mastering  the  technique  of  any  one  subject, 
lay  at  the  Ijottom  of  his  multiplied  activity  in  direc- 
tions so  opposed  to  each  other.  He  was  excessively 
impressible,  caught  the  impulse  from  every  surrounding 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  49 

influence,  and  was  thus  never  constant  to  one  thing, 
because  his  susceptibility  was  connected  with  an  im- 
patience which  soon  made  him  weary.  There  are  men 
who  learn  many  languages,  and  never  thoroughly  master 
the  gi-ammar  of  one.  Of  these  was  Goethe.  Easily 
excited  to  throw  his  energy  in  a  new  direction,  he  had 
not  the  patience  which  begins  at  the  beginning  and 
rises  gradually,  slowly  into  assured  mastery.  Like  an 
eagle  he  swooped  down  upon  his  prey;  he  could  not 
watch  for  it,  with  cat-like  patience.  It  is  to  this  im- 
patience we  must  attribute  the  fact  of  so  many  works 
being  left  fragments,  so  many  composed  by  snatches 
during  long  intervals.  "Prometheus,"  "Mahomet," 
"Die  Naturhche  Tochter,"  "  Elpenor,"  "Achilleis," 
"  Nausikaa,"  remain  fragments.  "  Faust,"  "  Egmont," 
"  Tasso,"  "  Iphigeuia,"  "  Meister,"  were  many  years  in 
hand.  Whatever  could  be  done  in  a  few  days  —  while 
the  impulse  lasted  —  was  done ;  longer  works  were 
spread  over  a  series  of  years. 


Book    the    Second 

1765  to   1771 


*«In  grossen  Stadten  lernen  friih 

Die  jiingsten  Knaben  was ; 
Dena  manche  Biicher  lesen  sie 

Und  horen  diess  und  dass; 
Vom  Lieben  und  vom  Kiissen 
Sie  brauchen's  nicht  zu  wissen; 
Und  mancher  ist  im  zwoflten  Jahr 
Fast  kliiger  als  sein  Vater  war 

Da  er  die  Mutter  nahm." 

"  Q5ser  taught  me  that  the  Ideal  of  Beauty  is  Simplicity  and 
liepose,  and  thence  it  follows  that  no  youth  can  be  a 
Master." 


51 


CHAPTEE  I. 

THE    LEIPSIC   STUDENT. 

In  the  month  of  October,  1765,  Goethe,  aged  six- 
teen, arrived  in  Leipsic,  to  commence  his  collegiate 
hfe,  and  to  lay,  as  he  hoped,  the  sohd  foundation  of  a 
future  professorship.  He  took  lodgings  in  the  Feuer- 
kugel,  between  the  Old  and  New  Markets,  and  was  by 
the  rector  of  the  university  inscribed  on  the  19th  as 
student  "  in  the  Bavarian  nation."  At  that  period,  and 
until  quite  recently,  the  university  was  classed  accord- 
ing to  four  "  nations,"  viz.,  the  Meisnian,  the  Saxon, 
the  Bavarian,  and  the  Polish.  When  the  inscription 
was  official,  the  "  nations  "  were  what  in  Oxford  and 
Paris  are  called  "  tongues ; "  when  not  official,  they 
were  students'  clubs,  such  as  they  exist  to  this  day. 
Goethe,  as  a  Frankforter,  was  placed  in  the  Bavarian.^ 

If  the  reader  has  any  vivid  recollection  of  the  Leip- 
sic chapters  in  the  Autobiography,  let  me  beg  him  to 
dismiss  them  wath  all  haste  from  his  mind ;  that  very 
work  records  the  inabihty  of  recalling  the  enchanting 
days  of  youth  "  with  the  dimmed  powers  of  an  aged 
mind ; "  and  it  is  evident  that  the  calm  narrative  of  his 
Excellency  J.  W,  von  Goethe  very  inaccurately  repre- 
sents the  actual  condition  of  the  raw,  wild  student, 
just  escaped  from  the  paternal  roof,  with  money  which 
seems  uuHmited,  with  the  world  before  him  which  liis 
genius  is  to  conquer,     His  own  letters,  and  the  letters 

lotto  Jahn,  in  the  "Briefe  an  Lcipzicer  Freundc,"  p.  9.  A 
translation  of  these  interesting  letters  has  been  published  by  Mr. 
Robert  Slater,  Junior. 

53 


54  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

of  his  friends,  enable  us  "  to  read  between  the  lines  "  of 
the  Autobiography,  and  to  read  there  a  very  different 
account. 

He  first  presented  himself  to  Hofrath  Bohme,  a 
genuine  German  professor,  shut  within  the  narrow  cir- 
cle of  his  specialty.  To  him,  hterature  and  the  fine 
arts  were  trivialities ;  so  that  when  the  confiding  youth 
confessed  his  secret  ambition  of  studying  belles-lettres, 
in  heu  of  the  jurisprudence  commanded  by  his  father, 
he  met  with  every  discouragement.  Yet  it  was  not 
difficult  to  persuade  this  impressible  student  that  to 
rival  Otto  and  Heineccius  was  the  true  ambition  of  a 
vigorous  mind.  He  set  to  work  in  earnest,  at  first,  as 
students  usually  do  on  arriving  at  seats  of  learning. 
His  attendance  at  the  lectures  on  philosophy,  history  of 
law,  and  jurisprudence,  was  assiduous  enough  to  have 
pleased  even  his  father.  But  this  flush  of  eagerness 
quickly  subsided.  Logic  was  invincibly  repugnant  to 
him.  He  hungered  for  reahties,  and  could  not  be  sat- 
isfied with  definitions.  To  see  operations  of  his  mind, 
which  from  childhood  upwards  had  been  conducted 
with  perfect  ease  and  unconsciousness,  suddenly  pulled 
to  pieces,  in  order  that  he  might  gain  the  superfluous 
knowledge  of  what  they  were,  and  what  they  were 
called,  was  to  him  tiresome  and  frivolous.  "  I  fancied 
I  knew  as  much  about  God  and  the  world  as  the  pro- 
fessor himself,  and  logic  seemed  in  many  places  to  come 
to  a  dead  standstill."  We  are  here  on  the  threshold  of 
that  experience  which  lias  been  immortalised  in  the 
scene  between  Mephistopheles  and  the  Student.  Juris- 
prudence soon  became  almost  equally  tiresome.  He 
already  knew  as  much  law  as  the  professor  thought 
proper  to  communicate ;  and  what  with  the  tedium  of 
the  lectures,  and  the  counter-attraction  of  delicious 
fritters,  which  used  to  come  "  hot  from  the  pan,  pre- 
cisely at  the  hour  of  lecture,"  no  wonder  that  volatile 
Sixteen  soon  abated  attendance. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  55 

Volatile  he  was,  wild,  and  somewhat  rough,  both  in 
appearance  and  in  speech.  He  had  brought  with  him 
a  wild,  uneasy  spirit  struggling  toward  the  Hght.  He 
had  also  brought  \vith  him  the  rough  manners  of  Frank- 
fort, the  strong  Frankfort  dialect  and  colloquialisms, 
rendered  still  more  unfit  for  the  Leipsic  salon  by  a 
mixture  of  proverbs  and  Bibhcal  allusions.  Nay,  even 
his  costume  was  in  unpleasant  contrast  with  that  of 
the  society  in  which  he  moved.  He  had  an  ample 
wardrobe,  but  unhappily  it  was  doubly  out  of  fashion  : 
it  had  been  manufactured  at  home  by  one  of  his  father's 
servants,  and  thus  it  was  not  only  in  the  Frankfort 
style,  but  grotesquely  made  in  that  style.  To  complete 
his  discomfiture,  he  saw  a  favourite  low  comedian 
throw  an  audience  into  fits  of  laughter  by  appearing  on 
the  stage  dressed  precisely  in  that  costume,  which  he 
had  hitherto  worn  as  the  latest  novelty !  All  who 
can  remember  the  early  humiliations  of  being  far  be- 
hind their  companions  in  matters  of  costume  will  sym- 
patliise  with  this  youth.  From  one  of  his  letters, 
written  shortly  after  his  arrival,  we  may  catch  a 
ghmpse  of  him.  "  To-day  I  have  heard  two  lectures : 
Bohme  on  law,  and  Ernesti  on  Cicero's '  Orator.'  That'll 
do,  eh  ?  Next  week  we  have  collegium  philosophicum 
et  mathematicum.  I  haven't  seen  Gottsched  yet. 
He  is  married  again.  She  is  nineteen,  and  he  sixty- 
five.  She  is  four  feet  high,  and  he  seven  feet.  She  is 
as  thin  as  a  herring,  and  he  as  broad  as  a  feathersack. 
I  make  a  great  figure  here  !  But  as  yet  I  am  no  dandy. 
I  never  shall  become  one.  I  need  some  skill  to  be 
industrious.  In  society,  concerts,  theatre,  f eastings, 
promenades,  the  time  flies.  Ha !  it  goes  gloriously. 
But  also  expensively.  The  devil  knows  how  my  purse 
feels  it.  Hold  !  rescue  !  stop  !  There  go  two  louis  d'or. 
Help !  there  goes  another.  Heavens !  another  couple 
are  gone.  Pence  are  here  as  farthings  are  with  you. 
Nevertheless  one  can  live  cheaply  here.     So  I  hope  to 


56  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

get  off  with  two  hundred  thaler s  —  what  do  I  say  ? 
with  three  hundred.  N.  B.  Not  including  what  has 
already  gone  to  the  devil." 

Dissatisfied  with  college,  he  sought  instruction  else- 
where. At  the  table  where  he  dined  daily,  kept  by 
Hofrath  Ludwig,  the  rector,  he  met  several  medical 
students.  He  heard  little  talked  of  but  medicine  and 
botany,  and  the  names  of  Haller,  Linnaeus,  and  Buff  on 
were  incessantly  cited  with  respect.  His  ready  quick- 
ness to  interest  himself  in  all  that  interested  those 
around  him  threw  him  at  once  into  these  studies, 
which  hereafter  he  was  to  pursue  with  passionate  ar- 
dour, but  which  at  present  he  only  lightly  touched. 
Another  source  of  instruction  awaited  him,  one  which 
through  life  he  ever  gratefully  acknowledged,  namely, 
the  society  of  women. 

"  Willst  du  genau  erfahren  was  sich  ziemt, 
So  frage  nur  bei  edlen  Frauen  an  !  "  ^ 

So  he  speaks  in  "  Tasso ;  "  and  here,  in  Leipsic,  he  was 
glad  to  learn  from  !Frau  Bohme  not  only  some  of  the 
requisites  for  society,  but  also  some  principles  of  poetic 
criticism.  This  delicate,  accomphshed  woman  was  able 
to  draw  him  into  society,  to  teach  him  I'ombre  and 
piquet,  to  correct  some  of  his  awkwardness,  and  lastly 
to  make  him  own  that  the  poets  he  admired  were  a 
deplorable  set,  and  that  his  own  imitations  of  them  de- 
served no  better  fate  than  the  tiames.  He  had  got  rid 
of  his  absurd  wardrobe  at  one  fell  swoop,  without  a 
murmur  at  the  expense.  He  now  had  also  to  cast 
away  the  poetic  wardrobe  brought  from  home  with 
pride.  He  saw  that  it  was  poetic  frippery  —  saw  that 
his  own  poems  were  lifeless  ;  accordingly,  a  holocaust 
was  made  of  all  his  writings,  prose  and  verse,  and  the 
kitchen  fire  wafted  them  into  space. 

^  "  Wouldst  clearly  learn  what  the  Becoming  is,  inquire  of 
noble-minded  women  !  " 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  57 

But  society  became  vapid  to  him  at  last.  He  was 
not  at  his  ease.  Cards  never  amused  him,  and  poetical 
discussion  became  painful.  "  I  have  not  written  a 
long  while,"  he  writes  to  his  friend  Riese.  "  Forgive 
me.  Ask  not  after  the  cause  !  It  was  not  occupation, 
at  all  events.  You  live  contented  in  Marburg ;  I  hve 
so  here.  Solitary,  sohtary,  quite  soHtary.  Dear  Riese, 
this  solitude  has  awakened  a  certain  sadness  in  my  soul : 

<'  '  It  is  my  only  pleasure 
Away  from  all  the  world, 
To  lie  beside  the  streamlet, 
And  think  of  tliose  1  love.' 

But  contented  as  I  am,  I  still  feel  the  want  of  old  com- 
panions. I  sigh  for  my  friends  and  my  maiden,  and 
when  I  feel  that  my  sighs  are  vain  — 

"  '  Then  fills  my  heart  with  sorrow,  — 
My  eye  is  dim  ; 

The  stream  which  softly  passed  me 
Roars  now  in  storm. 
No  bird  sings  in  the  bushes, 
The  zephyr  which  refreshed  me 
Now  storms  from  the  north. 
And  whirls  off  the  blossoms. 
AVith  tremor  I  fly  from  the  spot, — 
I  fl)^  and  seek  in  deserted  sti'eets 
Sad  solitude.' 

Yet  how  happy  I  am,  quite  happpy  !  Horn  has  drawn 
me  from  low  spirits  by  his  arrival.  He  wonders  why 
I  am  so  changed. 


^o^ 


" '  He  seeks  to  find  the  explanation, 

Smiling  thinks  o'er  it,  looks  me  in  the  face  ; 
But  how  can  he  find  out  my  cause  of  grief? 
I  know  it  not  myself.' 

But  I  must  tell  you  something  of  myself : 

"  '  Quite  other  wishes  rise  within  me  now. 

Dear  friend,  from  those  you  liave  been  wont  to  hear. 


58  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Yon  know  how  seriously  T  wooed  the  Muse  ; 

With  what  a  hate  I  scorned  those  whom  the  Law 

And  not  the  Muses  beckoned.     And  you  know 

How  fondly  I  (alas!  most  falsely)  hojaed 

The  Muses  loved  me,  —  gave  me  gift  of  song! 

My  Lyre  sounded  many  a  lofty  song, 

But  not  the  Muses,  not  Apollo  sent  them. 

True,  it  is  my  pride  made  me  believe 

The  gods  descended  to  me,  and  no  Master 

Produced  more  perfect  works  than  mine  ! 

No  sooner  came  I  here,  than  from  my  eyes 

Fell  off  the  scales,  as  I  first  learned  to  prize 

Fame,  and  the  mighty  efforts  fame  required. 

Then  seemed  to  me  my  own  ambitious  flight 

But  as  the  agitation  of  a  worm, 

Who  in  the  dust  beholds  the  eagle  soar. 

And  strives  to  reach  him;  strains  every  nerve, 

Yet  only  agitates  the  dust  he  lies  in. 

Sudden  the  wind  doth  rise,  and  whirls  the  dust 

In  clouds,  the  worm  is  also  raised  with  it  : 

Then  the  poor  worm  believes  he  has  the  wings 

Of  eagles,  raising  him  too  in  the  air  ! 

But  in  another  moment  lulls  the  wind, 

The  cloud  of  dust  drops  gently  on  the  ground. 

And  with  the  dust  the  worm,  who  crawls  once  more ! ' 

Don't    be    angry    with    ray    galimathias.       Good-bye. 
Horn  will  finish  this  letter." 

Not  only  is  this  letter  curious  in  its  revelations  of 
his  state  of  mind,  but  the  verses  into  which  it  spontane- 
ously flows,  and  which  I  have  translated  with  more 
jealous  fidelity  to  the  meaning  than  to  poetical  repro- 
duction, show  how  among  his  friends  he  was  even  tlien 
regarded  as  a  future  poet.  The  confession  uttered  in 
his  final  verses  clearly  owes  its  origin  to  Frau  Bohme's 
criticisms  ;  but  it  is  not  every  young  poet  who  can  be 
so  easily  discouraged.  Even  his  discourngement  could 
not  last  long.  Schlosser,  afterward  liis  brother-in-law, 
came  to  Leipsic,  and  by  his  preaching  and  example 
once  more  roused  the  productive  activity  which  showed 
itself  in  German,  French,  P^nglish  and  Itahan  verses. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  59 

Schlosser,  who  was  ten  years  his  senior,  not  only- 
awakened  emulation  by  his  own  superior  knowledge 
and  facility,  but  further  aided  him  by  introducing  him 
to  a  set  of  literary  friends  with  whom  poetic  discus- 
sions formed  the  staple  of  conversation.  This  circle 
met  at  the  house  of  one  Schdukopf,  a  Wcinhamllcr  and 
Hauswirth,  living  in  the  Briihl,  No.  79.^  To  trans- 
late these  words  into  EngHsh  equivalents  would  only 
mislead  the  reader.  Schonkopf  kept  neither  an  hotel, 
nor  a  pubhc-house,  but  what  in  Germany  is  a  substitute 
for  both.  He  sold  wine,  and  kept  a  table-d'hote ; 
occasionally  also  let  bedrooms  to  travellers.  His  wife, 
a  lively,  cultivated  woman,  belonging  to  a  good  family 
in  Frankfort,  drew  Frankfort  visitors  to  the  house  ;  and 
with  her  Goethe  soon  became  on  terms  of  intimacy, 
which  would  seem  surprising  to  the  English  reader  who 
only  heard  of  her  as  an  innkeeper's  wife.  He  became 
one  of  the  family,  and  fell  in  love  with  the  daughter. 
I  must  further  beg  the  reader  to  understand  that  in 
Germany,  to  this  day,  there  is  a  wide  difference  between 
the  dining  customs  and  our  own.  The  English  student, 
clerk,  or  bachelor,  who  dines  at  an  eating-house,  chop- 
house,  or  hotel,  goes  there  simply  to  get  his  dinner,  and 
perhaps  look  at  the  Times.  Of  the  other  diners  he 
knows  nothing,  cares  little.  It  is  rare  that  a  word  is 
interchanged  between  him  and  his  neighbour.  Quite 
otherwise  in  Germany.  There  the  same  society  is 
generally  to  be  found  at  the  same  table.  The  table- 
d'hote  is  composed  of  a  circle  of  hahitues,  varied  by 
occasional  visitors,  who  in  time  become,  perhaps,  mem- 
bers of  the  circle.  Even  with  strangers  conversation 
is  freely  interchanged  ;  and  in  a  little  while  friendships 
are  formed  over  these  dinner-tables,  according  as 
natural  taste  and  likings  assimilate,  which,  extending 
beyond  the  mere  hour  of  dinner,  are  carried  into  the 

1  The  house  still  stands  there,  but  has  been  almost  entirely  re- 
modelled. 


6o  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

current  of  life.  Germans  do  not  rise  so  hastily  from 
the  table  as  we ;  for  time  with  them  is  not  so  precious ; 
life  is  not  so  crowded  ;  time  can  be  found  for  quiet 
after-dinner  talk.  The  cigars  and  coffee,  which  appear 
before  the  cloth  is  removed,  keep  the  company  to- 
gether ;  and  in  that  state  of  suflused  comfort  which 
quiet  digestion  creates,  they  hear  without  anger  the 
opinions  of  antagonists.  In  such  a  society  must 
we  imagine  Goethe  in  the  Schonkopf  establishment, 
among  .students  and  men  of  letters,  all  eager  in  advanc- 
ing their  own  opinions,  and  combating  the  false  taste 
which  was  not  their  own. 

To  complete  this  picture,  and  to  separate  it  still  more 
from  our  English  customs,  you  must  imagine  host  and 
hostess  dining  at  the  table,  while  their  charming  daugh- 
ter, who  had  cooked  or  helped  to  cook  the  dinner, 
brought  them  the  wine.  This  daughter  was  the  Anna 
Katharina,  by  intimates  called  Kathchen,  and  by 
Goethe,  in  the  Autobiography,  designated  as  Annchen 
and  Annette.  Her  portrait,  still  extant,  is  very  pleas- 
ing. She  was  then  nineteen,  lively,  and  loving  ;  how 
could  she  be  insensible  to  the  love  of  this  glorious 
youth,  in  all  the  fervour  of  genius,  and  with  all  the 
attractions  of  beauty  ?  Insensible  she  was  not,  Imt  be- 
ing three  years  older  and  of  a  lively  satirical  turn,  she 
rather  played  with  and  plagued  him,  than  suffered  her 
affections  to  be  ensnared.  They  saw  each  other  daily, 
not  only  at  dinner  but  in  the  evenings,  when  he  accom- 
panied the  piano  of  her  brother  by  a  fee])le  performance 
on  the  flute.  They  also  got  up  private  theatricals,  in 
which  Goethe  and  Kiithchen  played  the  lovers.  "  Minna 
von  Barnhelm,"  then  a  novelty,  was  among  the  pieces 
performed.  That  these  performances  were  of  a  strictly 
amateur  order  may  be  gathered  from  the  fact  tliat  in 
one  of  them  the  part  of  a  nightingale,  which  is  impor- 
tant, was  represented  by  a  handkerchief,  rolled  up  into 
such  ornithological  resemblance  as  art  could  reach. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  6i 

Two  letters,  quite  recently  discovered,  have  falleu 
into  my  hands  ;  ^  they  give  us  a  curious  glimpse  of  him 
at  this  time,  such  as  one  may  look  for  in  vain  in  his 
own  account  of  himself,  or  in  the  accounts  of  any  other 
writer.  They  are  from  his  friend  Horn,  whose  arrival 
he  mentioned  in  the  letter  previously  quoted,  and  who 
was  one  of  his  daily  companions  in  Frankfort.  The 
first  is  dated  12th  of  August,  1766,  and  is  addressed  to 
one  Moors,  a  Frankfort  companion. 

"  To  speak  of  our  Goethe  !  He  is  still  the  same 
proud,  fantastic  personage  as  when  I  came  hither.  If 
you  only  saw  him,  you  would  either  be  mad  Nvith  anger 
or  you  would  burst  with  laughter.  I  cannot  at  all 
understand  how  a  man  can  so  quickly  transform  him- 
self. His  manners  and  his  whole  bearing,  at  present, 
are  as  different  as  possible  from  his  former  behaviour. 
Over  and  above  his  pride,  he  is  a  dandy ;  and  all  his 
clothes,  handsome  as  they  are,  are  in  so  odd  a  taste 
that  they  make  liim  conspicuous  among  all  the  students. 
But  this  is  indifferent  to  him  ;  one  may  remonstrate 
with  him  for  his  folly  as  much  as  one  hkes  — 

" '  Man  mag  Amphion  seyii  und  Fold  und  Wald  bezwingen, 
Nur  keinen  Goethe  nicht  kaiui  man  zur  Klugheit  bringen.'  - 

All  his  thought  and  effort  is  only  to  please  himself 
and  his  lady-love.  In  every  circle  he  makes  himself 
more  ridiculous  than  agreeable.  Merely  because  the 
lady  admires  it,  he  has  put  on  tricks  and  gestures  that 
one  cannot  possibly  refrain  from  laughing  at.  He  has 
adopted  a  walk  which  is  quite  insufferable.  If  you 
only  saw  it ! 

"  '  11  marche  a  pas  compt^s, 
Comma  un  Recteur  suivi  des  quatre  Facult^s.' 

1  Since  printed  in  tiie  work  cited,  on  page  37. 
2 "One  may  be  Amphion  and  coerce  the  trees  and  rocks,  but 
not  bring  Goethe  to  his  senses." 


62  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

His  society  is  every  day  more  intolerable  to  me,  and 
he,  too,  tries  to  avoid  me  whenever  he  can.  I  am  too 
plain  a  man  for  him  to  walk  across  the  street  with  me. 
What  would  the  '  king  of  Holland '  say  if  he  saw  him 
in  this  guise  ?  Do  write  again  to  him  soon  and  tell 
him  your  opinion ;  else  he  and  his  lady-love  will 
remain  as  silly  as  ever.  Heaven  only  preserve  me,  as 
long  as  I  am  here,  from  any  sweetheart,  for  the  women 
here  are  the  very  devil.  Goethe  is  not  the  first  who 
has  made  a  fool  of  himself  to  please  his  Dulcinea.  I 
only  wish  you  could  see  her  just  for  once :  she  is  the 
most  absurd  creature  in  the  world.  Her  mine  coquette 
avec  un  air  hautain  is  all  with  which  she  has  bewitched 
Goethe.  Dear  friend  !  how  glad  should  I  be  if  Goethe 
were  still  what  he  was  in  Frankfort  ■  Good  friends  as 
we  were  formerly,  we  can  now  scarcely  endure  each 
other  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Yet  with  time  I  still 
hope  to  convert  him,  though  it  is  a  hard  matter  to  make 
a  coxcomb  wise.  But  I  will  venture  everything  for  the 
sake  of  it. 

" '  Ach  I  friichtete  dies  mein  Bemiihn  ! 

Ach  I  konnt'  ich  meinen  Zweck  erreichen  ! 
Ich  wollt'  nicht  Luther,  nicht  Calvin, 
Noch  eineni  der  Bekehrer  weichen.'  ^ 

I  cannot  write  to  him  again  what  I  have  here  told  you. 
I  shall  be  delighted  if  you  will  do  so.  I  care  neither 
for  his  auger  nor  for  that  of  liis  lady-love.  For,  after 
all,  he  is  not  easily  offended  with  me ;  even  when  we 
have  quarrelled  he  sends  for  me  next  day.  So  much 
of  him  ;  more  another  time. 

"  Live  and  forget  not  thy  Horn." 

Moors    followed    Horn's    ad\dce,  and    expressed    to 
Goethe,  apparently  in  very  plain  terms,  his  astonish- 

1  "  Ah,  if  lay  attempt  succeed,  I  shall  not  envy  Luther,  Calvin, 
nor  any  other  Converter." 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  63 

ment  and  dissatisfaction  at  the  disadvantageous  change. 
In  October  of  the  same  year,  he  received  from  Horn 
the  following  explanation : 

"  But,  dear  Moors  !  how  glad  you  will  be  to  learn  that 
we  have  lost  no  friend  in  our  Goethe,  as  we  falsely 
supposed.  He  had  so  travestied  liimself  as  to  deceive 
not  only  me  but  a  gi-eat  many  others,  and  we  should 
never  have  discovered  the  real  truth  of  the  matter,  if 
your  letter  had  not  threatened  him  with  the  loss  of 
a  friend.  I  must  tell  you  the  whole  story  as 
he  himself  told  it  to  me,  for  he  has  commissioned 
me  to  do  so  in  order  to  save  him  the  trouble.  He 
is  in  love  it  is  true  —  he  has  confessed  it  to  me,  and 
will  confess  it  to  you ;  but  his  love,  though  his  cir- 
cumstances are  sad,  is  not  culpable,  as  I  formerly 
supposed.  He  loves.  But  not  that  young  lady  whom 
I  suspected  him  of  loving.  He  loves  a  girl  beneath 
him  in  rank,  but  a  girl  whom  —  I  think  I  do  not  say 
too  much  —  you  would  yourself  love  if  you  saw  her. 
I  am  no  lover,  so  I  shall  write  entirely  without  passion. 
Imagine  to  yourself  a  woman,  well-grown  though  not 
very  tall ;  a  round,  agreeable,  though  not  extraordinarily 
beautiful  face  ;  open,  gentle,  engaging  manners  ;  a  very 
pretty  understanding,  without  having  had  any  great 
education.  He  loves  her  very  tenderly,  with  the  per- 
fect, honest  intentions  of  a  virtuous  man,  though  he 
knows  that  she  can  never  be  his.  Whether  she  loves 
him  in  return  I  know  not.  You  know,  dear  Moors, 
that  is  a  point  about  which  one  cannot  well  ask ;  but 
this  much  I  can  say  to  you,  that  they  seem  to  be  born 
for  each  other.  Now  observe  his  cunning!  That  no 
one  may  suspect  him  of  such  an  attachment,  he  under- 
takes to  persuade  the  world  of  precisely  the  opposite, 
and  hitherto  he  has  been  extraordinarily  successful. 
He  makes  a  great  parade  and  seems  to  be  paying  court 
to  a  certam  young  lady  of  whom  I  have  told  you  before. 
He  can  see  his  beloved  and  converse  with  her  at  certain 


64  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

times  without  giving  occasion  for  the  slightest  suspicion, 
and  I  often  accompany  him  to  her.  If  Goethe  were 
not  my  friend,  I  should  fall  in  love  with  her  myself. 
Meanwhile  he  is  supposed  to  be  in  love  with  the  Frau- 

lein ■  (but  what  do  you  care  about  her  name  ?)  and 

people  are  fond  of  teasing  him  about  her.  Perhaps  she 
herself  believes  that  he  loves  her,  but  the  good  lady  de- 
ceives herself.  Since  that  time  he  has  admitted  me  to 
closer  confidence,  has  made  me  acquainted  with  liis 
affairs,  and  shown  me  that  his  expenditure  is  not  so 
great  as  might  be  supposed.  He  is  more  of  a  philosopher 
and  moralist  than  ever ;  and  innocent  as  his  love  is,  he 
nevertheless  disapproves  it.  We  often  dispute  about 
this,  but  let  him  take  what  side  he  will,  he  is  sure  to 
win  ;  for  you  know  what  weight  he  can  give  to  only 
apparent  reasons.  I  pity  him  and  his  good  heart, 
which  really  must  be  in  a  very  melancholy  condition, 
since  he  loves  the  most  virtuous  and  perfect  of  girls 
without  hope.  But  if  we  suppose  that  she  loves  him 
in  return,  how  miserable  must  he  be  on  that  very 
account !  I  need  not  explain  that  to  you,  who  so  well 
know  the  human  heart.  He  has  told  me  that  he  will 
write  you  one  or  two  things  about  it  himself.  There  is 
no  necessity  for  me  to  recommend  silence  to  you  on 
this  subject ;   for  you  yourself  see   how  necessary  it 

In  his  little  poem, "  Der  Wahre  Genuss,"  he  says, "  She 
is  perfect,  and  her  only  fault  is  —  that  she  loves  me : " 

"  Sie  ist  vollkommen,  und  sie  fehlet 
Darin  alleiii  dass  sie  mich  liebt." 

And  he  wishes  us  to  believe  that  he  teased  her  with 
trifles  and  idle  .suspicions;  was  jealous  without  cause, 
convinced  without  reason ;  plagued  her  with  fantastic 
quarrels,  till  at  last  her  endurance  was  exhausted,  and 
her  love  was  washed  away  in  tears.  No  sooner  was  he 
aware  of  this,  than  he  repented,  and  tried  to  recover 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  65 

the  jewel  which  like  a  prodigal  he  had  cast  away.  In 
vain.  He  was  in  despair,  and  tried  in  dissipation  to 
forget  his  grief. 

This  is  his  version  of  the  affair  given  in  the  Auto- 
biography, but  by  the  evidence  of  his  letters  it  is  clear 
that  it  was  not  he  who  trifled  with  her  affections,  but 
she  who  played  with  him.  It  was  not  he  who  was 
inclined  to  escape  when  he  found  her  love  secured ;  he 
never  did  secure  it. 

"  Erringen  will  der  Mensch ;  er  mil  nicht  sicher  seyn." 
("Man  loves  to  conquer,  not  to  feel  secure.") 

As  he  truly  says,. in  the  little  piece  wherein  he  drama- 
tises this  episode ;  but  the  truth  is  often  as  applicable 
to  woman  as  to  man.  At  any  rate,  we  know  from  the 
poet's  own  letters  that  it  was  Kiithchen  who  teased 
and  laughed  at  him,  and  it  was  in  reality  his  own  tor- 
ments that  he  dramatised. 

If  we  reverse  the  positions,  we  may  read  in  some  of 
his  lyrics  the  burden  of  this  experience.  One  entire 
play,  or  pastoral,  is  devoted  to  a  poetical  representation 
of  these  lovers'  quarrels :  this  is  "  Die  Laune  des  Ver- 
liebten,"  which  is  very  curious  as  the  earliest  extant 
work  of  the  great  poet,  and  as  the  earliest  specimen  of 
his  tendency  to  turn  experience  into  song.  In  the 
opera  of  "  Erwin  uud  Elmire  "  he  subsequently  treated 
a  similar  subject,  in  a  very  different  manner.  The 
first  effort  is  the  more  curious  of  the  two.  The  style 
of  composition  is  an  imitation  of  those  pastoral  dramas, 
wliich,  originated  by  Tasso  and  Guarini  in  the  soft  and 
almost  luscious  "  Aminta  "  and  "  Pastor  Fido,"  had  by 
the  French  been  made  popular  all  over  Europe. 

Two  happy  and  two  unhappy  lovers  are  somewhat 
artificially  contrasted ;  the  two  latter  representing 
Kathchen  and  the  poet.  Action  there  is  none ;  the 
piece  is  made  up  of  talk  about  love,  some  felicitous 
verses  of  the  true  stamp  and  ring,  and  an  occasional 


66  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

glimpse  of  insight  into  the  complexities  of  passion. 
Eridon,  the  jealous  lover,  torments  his  mistress  in  a 
style  at  once  capricious  and  natural ;  with  admirable 
truth  she  deplores  his  jealousy  and  excuses  it : 

"  Zwar  oft  betriibt  er  mich,  doch  riihrt  ihn  auch  mein  Schmerz. 
Wirft  er  rair  etwas  vor,  fangt  er  mich  an  zu  plagen, 
So  darf  ich  nur  eiu  Wort,  ein  gutes  Wort  nur  sagen, 
Gleich  ist  er  umgekehrt,  die  wilde  Zanksucht  flieht, 
Er  weint  sogar  mit  mir,  weun  er  mich  weinen  sieht.^ 

It  is  admirably  said  that  the  very  absence  of  any  cause 
for  grief  prompts  him  to  create  a  grief : 

"  Da  er  kein  Elend  hat,  will  er  sich  Elend  machen." 

Amine  is  also  touched  with  a  delicate  pencil.  Her 
lovingness,  forgivingness,  and  endurance  are  true  to 
hfe.  Here  is  a  couplet  breathing  the  very  tenderness 
of  love : 

"  Der  Liebe  leichtes  Band  machst  du  zum  schweren  Joch. 
Du  qiialst  mich  als  Tyrann  ;  und  ich  ?  ich  lieb  dich  noch  ! "  ^ 

One  more  line  and  I  have  done :  Egl^  is  persuading 
Eridon  that  Amine's  love  of  dancing  is  no  trespass  on 
her  love  for  him ;  since,  after  having  enjoyed  her 
dance,  her  first  thought  is  to  seek  him: 

"  Und  durch  das  Suchen  selbst  ivirsi  du  ihr  immer  lieber."  ^ 

In  such  touches  as  these  lurks  the  future  poet ;  still 
more  so  in  the  very  choice  of  the  subject.  Here, 
as  ever,  he  does  not  cheat  himself  with  pouring  feigned 

1 "  'Tis  true  he  vexes  me,  and  yet  my  sorrow  pains  him. 
Yet  let  him  but  reproach  —  begin  to  tease  nie, 
Then  need  I  but  a  word,  a  single  kind  word  utter. 
Away  flics  all  his  anger  in  a  moment. 
And  he  will  weep  with  me,  because  he  sees  me  weep." 

2  "  The  fairy  liTik  of  Love  thou  raak'st  a  galling  yoke. 

Thou  trcat'st  me  ;is  a  slave  ;  and  I  ?  I  love  thee  still  !  " 

3  "  And  in  the  very  search  her  heart  grows  fonder  of  thee." 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  67 

sorrows  into  feigning  verse :  he  embalms  his  own 
ei:penence.  He  does  not  trouble  himself  with  drawing 
characters  and  events  from  the  shelves  of  the  hbrary : 
his  soul  is  the  fountain  of  his  inspiration.  His  own 
hfe  was  uniformly  the  text  from  which  he  preached. 
He  sang  what  he  had  felt,  and  because  he  had  felt  it ; 
not  because  others  had  sung  before  him.  He  was  the 
echo  of  no  man's  joys  and  sorrows,  he  was  the  lyrist  of 
his  own.  This  is  the  reason  why  his  poems  have  an 
endless  charm :  they  are  as  indestructible  as  passion 
itself.  They  reach  our  hearts  because  they  issue  from 
his.  Every  bullet  hits  the  mark,  according  to  the 
huntsman's  superstition,  if  it  have  first  been  dipped  in 
the  marksman's  blood. 

He  has  told  us,  emphatically,  that  all  his  works  are 
hut  fragments  of  the  grand  confession  of  his  life.  Of 
him  we  may  say  what  Horace  so  well  says  of  Lucilius, 
that  he  trusted  his  secrets  to  books  as  to  faithful 
friends : 

"  Ille  velut  fidis  arcana  sodalibus  olim 
Credebat  libris  ;  neqiie,  si  male  cesserat,  unquam 
Decurrens  alio,  neque  si  bene:  quo  ft,  ut  omnis 
Votiva  patent  veluti  descripta  tahella 
Vita  senis."  ^ 

How  clearly  he  saw  the  nullity  of  every  other  pro- 
cedure is  shown  in  various  passages  of  his  letters  and 
conversations.  Riemer  has  preserved  one  worth  select- 
ing :  "  There  will  soon  be  a  poetry  without  poetry,  a 
real  ■n-oL-qa-L's,  where  the  subject-matter  is  iv  iroi-qcru,  in 
the  making :  a  manufactured  poetry."  ^     He  dates  from 

1  Horace  :  lib.  it.  1. 

-  '■'•  Briefe  von  und  an  Goethe."  Herausge?.  von  Riemer.  1846. 
What  follows  is  untranslatable,  from  the  play  on  words:  "Die 
Dichtee  heissen  dann  so,  wie  schon  Moritz  spasste,  a  spissando, 
densando,  vom  Dichtm;v:aen,  well  sie  Alles  zusammendriingen, 
und  kommen  mir  vor  wie  eine  Art  Wurstmacher.  die  in  den 
Darm  des  Hexamete;'d  oder  Trimeters  ihre  Wort  und  Sylbenftillo 
stopfen."  / 


/ 


68  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Leipsic  the  origin  of  his  own  practice,  which  he  says 
was  a  tendency  he  never  could  deviate  from  all  his  hfe : 
"  namely,  the  tendency  to  transform  into  an  image,  a 
poem,  everything  which  delighted  or  troubled  me,  or 
otherwise  occupied  me,  and  to  come  to  some  distinct 
uuderstauding  with  myself  upon  it,  to  set  my  inward 
being  at  rest."  The  reason  he  gives  for  this  tendency 
is  very  questionable.  He  attributes  it  to  the  isolation 
in  which  he  lived  with  respect  to  matters  of  taste, 
forcing  him  to  look  within  for  poetical  subjects.  But 
had  not  the  tendency  of  his  genius  lain  in  that  direc- 
tion, no  such  circumstances  could  have  directed  it. 

Young,  curious,  and  excitable  as  he  was,  nothing  is 
more  natural  than  that  he  should  somewhat  shock  the 
respectabihties  by  his  pranks  and  extravagances.  His 
constant  companion  was  Behrisch,  one  of  the  most  in- 
teresting figures  among  these  Leipsic  friends.  With 
strongly  marked  features  and  a  certain  dry  causticity 
of  manner,  always  well  dressed,  and  always  preserving 
a  most  staid  demeanour,  Behrisch,  then  about  thirty 
years  of  age,  had  an  ineradicable  love  of  fun  and 
mystification.  He  could  treat  trifles  with  an  air  of  im- 
mense importance.  He  would  invent  narratives  about 
the  perversity  and  absurdity  of  others,  in  order  to  con- 
vulse his  hearers  with  the  unction  of  his  philippics 
against  such  absurdity.  He  was  fond  of  dissipation, 
into  which  he  carried  an  air  of  supreme  gravity.  He 
rather  affected  the  French  style  of  politesse,  and  spoke 
the  language  well ;  and,  above  all,  he  had  some  shrewd 
good  sense,  as  a  buttress  for  all  his  follies.  Behrisch 
introduced  him  to  some  damsels  who  "  were  better  than 
their  reputation,"  and  took  liini  into  scenes  more  useful 
to  the  future  poet  than  advantageous  to  the  repute  of 
the  young  student.  He  also  laughed  him  out  of  all 
respect  for  gods,  goddesses,  and  other  mythological 
inanities  which  still  pressed  their  heavy  dulness  on  his 
verse ;  would  not  let  him  commit  the  imprudence  of 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  69 

rushing  into  print,  but  calmed  the  author's  longing,  by 
beautifully  copying  his  verses  into  a  volume,  adorning 
them  with  vignettes.  Behrisch  was,  so  to  speak,  the 
precursor  of  Merck  ;  his  influence  not  so  great,  but 
somewhat  of  the  same  kind.  The  friends  were  dis- 
pleased to  see  young  Goethe  falling  thus  away  from 
good  society  into  such  a  disreputable  course  ;  but  just 
as  Lessing  before  him  had  neglected  the  elegant  Leip- 
sic- world  for  actors  and  authors  of  more  wit  than 
money,  and  preferred  Mylius,  with  his  shoes  down  at 
heel,  to  all  that  the  best-dressed  society  could  offer ;  so 
did  young  Goethe  neglect  salon  and  lecture-hall  for 
the  many-coloured  scene  of  life  in  less  elegant  circles. 
Eulightened  by  the  result,  we  foresee  that  the  poet  will 
receive  httle  injury  from  these  sources:  he  is  gaining 
experience ;  and  experience  even  of  the  worst  sides  of 
human  nature  will  be  sublimated  into  noble  uses,  as 
carrion  by  the  wise  farmer  is  turned  into  excellent 
manure.  In  this  great  drama  of  hfe  every  theatre  has 
its  greenroom;  and  unless  the  poet  know  how  it  is 
behind  the  scenes  he  will  never  understand  how  actors 
speak  and  move. 

Goethe  had  often  been  "  behind  the  scenes,"  looking 
at  the  skeleton  which  stands  in  almost  every  house. 
His  adventure  with  Gretchen,  and  its  consequences, 
early  opened  his  eyes  to  the  strange  gulfs  which  lie 
under  the  crust  of  society.  "  Eehgion,  morals,  law, 
rank,  habits,"  he  says,  "  rule  over  the  svrfacc  of  social 
life.  Streets  of  magnificent  houses  are  kept  clean; 
every  one  outwardly  conducts  himself  with  propriety  ; 
but  the  disorder  within  is  often  only  the  more  deso- 
late ;  and  a  polished  exterior  covers  many  a  wall  which 
totters,  and  falls  with  a  crash  during  the  night,  all  the 
more  terrible  because  it  falls  during  a  calm.  How 
many  families  had  I  not  more  or  less  distinctly  known 
in  which  bankruptcy,  divorce,  seduction,  murder,  and 
robbery  had  wrought  destruction  !     Young  as  I  was,  I 


70  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

had  often,  in  such  cases,  lent  my  succour ;  for  as  my 
frankness  awakened  confidence,  and  my  discretion  was 
known,  and  as  my  activity  did  not  shun  any  sacrifice 

—  indeed,  rather  preferred  the  most  perilous  occasions 

—  I  had  frequently  to  mediate,  console,  and  try  to 
avert  the  storm ;  in  the  course  of  which  I  could  not 
help  learning  many  sad  and  humiliating  facts." 

It  was  natural  that  such  sad  experience  should  at 
first  lead  him  to  view  the  whole  social  fabric  with  con- 
tempt.    To  reheve   himself,  he  —  being  then  greatly 
captivated  with  Moliere's  works  —  sketched  the  plans  of 
several  dramas ;  but  their  plots  were  so  uniformly  un- 
pleasant, and  the  catastrophes  so  tragic,  that  he  did  not 
work  out  these  plans.     "  The  Fellow  Sinners  "  {Die  Mit- 
schuldigen)  was    sketched,  though   not   completed  till 
the  next  year  during  his  convalescence  at  home.     The 
piece  now  printed  among  his  works  is  no  doubt  greatly 
altered  from  the  original  ;  and  since  what  we  have  is 
the  piece  rearranged  for  the  Weimar  stage  in  1776, 
and  no  copy  of  the  original  is  extant,  we  are  entirely 
at  a  loss  in  forming  a  judgment  of  the  amount  of  dra- 
matic maturity  and  literary  facility  it  may  have  exhib- 
ited as  the  production  of  a  youth  of  eighteen.     It  can 
only  be  relied  on  as  indicating   the   direction   of  his 
mind.     The   choice  of  the  subject  and  the  characters 
we  must  assign  to  this  period,  however  little  of  the 
original  treatment  may  remain.     Few,  in  England  at 
least,  ever  read  it ;  yet   such  as  we  have  it  now,  it  is 
worth  a  rapid  glance,  is  lively,  and  strong  with  effect- 
ive situations  and  two  happily  sketched  characters  — 
Soller,  the    scampish    husband,  and  his  father-in-law, 
the    inquisitive    landlord.     The    plot    is   briefly    this: 
Soller's  wife  —  before  she  became  his  wife  —  loved  a 
certain  Alcest ;  and  her  husband's  conduct  is  not  such 
as  to  make  her  forget  her  former  lover,  who,  at  the 
opening  of  the  play,  is  residing  in  her  fathin's  hotel. 
Alcest  prevails  upon  her  to  grant  him  an  interview  in 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  71 

his  own  room,  while  lier  husband  Soller,  is  at  the 
masquerade.  Unluckily,  Soller  has  determined  to  rob 
Alcest  that  very  night.  He  enters  the  room  by  stealth 
—  opens  the  escritoire  —  takes  the  money  —  is  alarmed 
by  a  noise  —  hides  himself  in  an  alcove,  and  then  sees 
his  father-in-law,  the  landlord,  enter  the  room !  The 
old  man,  unable  to  resist  a  burning  curiosity  to  know 
the  contents  of  a  letter  wliich  Alcest  has  received  that 
day,  has  come  to  read  it  in  secret.  But  he  in  turn  is 
alarmed  by  the  appearance  of  his  daughter,  and,  letting 
the  candle  fall,  he  escapes.  Soller  is  now  the  exasper- 
ated ■VNitness  of  an  interview  between  Alcest  and  his 
wife :  a  cituation  which,  hke  the  whole  of  the  play,  is 
a  mixture  of  the  ludicrous  and  the  painful  —  very 
dramatic  and  very  unpleasant. 

On  the  following  day  the  robbery  is  discovered. 
Sophie  thinks  the  robber  is  her  father :  he  returns  her 
the  compliment  —  nay,  more,  stimulated  by  his  eager 
curiosity,  he  consents  to  inform  Alcest  of  his  suspicion 
in  return  for  the  permission  to  read  the  contents  of  the 
mysterious  letter.  A  father  sacrificing  his  daughter  to 
gratify  a  paltry  curiosity  is  too  gi-oss ;  it  is  the  only 
trait  of  juvenility  in  the  piece  —  a  piece  otherwise  pre- 
maturely old.  Enraged  at  such  an  accusation,  Sophie 
retorts  the  charge  upon  her  father,  and  some  unamiable 
altercations  result.  The  piece  winds  up  by  the  self- 
betrayal  of  Soller,  who,  intimating  to  Alcest  that  he 
was  present  during  a  certain  nocturnal  interview, 
shields  himself  from  punishment.  The  moral  is  — 
"  Forget  and  forgive  among  fellow  sinners." 


CHAPTEE   II. 

MENTAL   CHAKACTERISTICS. 

The  two  dramatic  works  noticed  toward  the  close 
of  the  last  chapter  may  be  said  to  begin  the  real 
poetic  career  of  their  author,  because  in  them  he  drew 
from  his  actual  experience.  They  will  furnish  us  with 
a  text  for  some  remarks  on  his  peculiar  characteristics, 
the  distinct  recognition  of  which  will  facilitate  the 
comprehension  of  his  life  and  writings.  We  make  a 
digression,  but  the  reader  will  find  that  in  thus  swerv- 
ing from  the  direct  path,  we  are  only  tacking  to  fill 
our  sails  with  wind. 

Frederick  Schlegel  (and  after  him  Coleridge)  aptly 
said  that  every  man  was  born  either  a  Platonist  or  an 
Aristotelian.  This  distinction  is  often  expressed  in 
the  terms  suhjcctive  and  objective  intellects.  Perhaps 
we  shall  best  define  these  by  calling  the  objective 
intellect  one  which  is  eminently  mipersojial,  and  the 
subjective  intellect  one  which  is  eminently  personal ; 
the  former  disengaging  itself  as  much  as  possible  from 
its  own  prepossessions,  striving  to  see  and  represent 
objects  as  they  exist ;  the  other  viewing  all  objects  in 
the  hght  of  its  own  feelings  and  preconceptions.  It  is 
needless  to  add  that  no  mind  can  be  exclusively  objec- 
tive, nor  exclusively  subjective ;  but  every  mind  has  a 
more  or  less  dominant  tendency  in  one  of  these  direc- 
tions. We  see  the  contrast  in  Philosophy,  as  in  Art. 
The  realist  argues  from  Nature  upwards,  starting  from 
reality,  and  never  long  losing  siglit  of  it,  but  even  in 

the  adventurous  flights  of  hypothesis  and  speculation 

72 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  73 

striving  to  make  his  hypothesis  correspond  with  real- 
ities.    The  ideahst  starts   from  some  conception,  and 
seeks  in  reahties  only  visible  illustrations  of  a  deeper 
existence.     The  achievements  of  modern  Science,  and 
the  masterpieces  of  Art,  prove  that  the  grandest  gen- 
eralisations and  the  most  elevated  types  can  only  be 
reached   by    the   former    method ;  and   that    what    is 
called  the  "  ideal  school,"  so  far  from  having  the  supe- 
riority which  it  claims,  is  only  more  lofty  in  its  pre- 
tensions ;  the  realist,  with   more  modest    pretensions, 
achieves  loftier  results.     The  Objective  and  Subjective, 
or,  as  they  are  also  improperly  called,  the  Eeal  and 
Ideal,  are  thus  contrasted  as  the  termini  of  two  oppo- 
site lines  of  thought.     In  Philosophy,  in  Morals,  and 
in  Art,  we  see  a  constant  antagonism  between  these 
two    tendencies.     Thus  in  Morals  the  Platonists   are 
those  who   seek  the  highest  morality  o%it  of  human 
nature,  instead   of  in  the  healthy  development  of  all 
human  tendencies,  and  their  due  coordination;  they 
hope,  in  the  suppression  of  integral  faculties,  to  attain 
some  superhuman  standard.     They  superpose  ah  extra, 
instead    of    trying   to   develop  ah   intra.     They  draw 
from  their  own  minds,  or  from  the  dogmas  handed  to 
them  by  tradition,  the  notion  of  a  mould,  into  wliich 
they  attempt  to  fuse  the  activity  of  Nature. 

If  this  school  had  not  in  its  favour  the  imperious 
instinct  of  progress,  and  aspirations  after  a  better,  it 
would  not  hold  its  ground.  But  it  satisfies  that  crav- 
ing, and  thus  deludes  many  minds  into  acquiescence. 
The  poetical  and  enthusiastic  disposition  most  readily 
acquiesces :  preferring  to  overlook  what  man  is,  in  its 
delight  of  contemplating  what  the  poet  makes  him. 
To  such  a  mind  all  conceptions  of  man  must  have  a 
halo  round  them  —  half  mist,  half  sunshine  ;  the  hero 
must  be  a  Demigod,  in  whom  no  valet  de  chamhre  can 
find  a  failing :  the  villain  must  be  a  Demon,  for  whom 
no  charity  can  find  an  excuse. 


74  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Not   to    extend   this   to  a  dissertation,  let   me   at 
once  say  that  Goethe  belonged  to  the  objective  class. 
"  Everywhere  in   Goethe,"  said  Franz  Horn,  "  you  are 
on  firm  land  or  island ;  nowhere  the  infinite  sea."     A 
better  characterisation  was  never  written  in  one  sen- 
tence.    In    every  page  of  his  works    may  be   read  a 
strong  feeling  for  the  real,  the   concrete,  the  living ; 
and  a  repugnance  as  strong  for  the  vague,  the  abstract, 
or  the  supersensuous.     His  constant  striving  was  to 
study  Nature,  so  as  to  see  her  directly,  and  not  through 
the  mists  of  fancy,  or  through  the  distortions  of  preju- 
dice —  to  look  at  men,  and  into  them  —  to  apprehend 
things  as  they  were.     In  his  conception  of  the  uni- 
verse he  could  not  separate  God  from  it,  placing  God 
above  it,  beyond  it,  as  the  philosophers  did  who  repre- 
sented  God  whirling  the   universe    round    his    finger, 
"  seeing  it  go."     Such  a  conception  revolted  him.     He 
animated  the  universe  with   God;  he    animated    fact 
with  divine  life ;  he  saw  in  Eeahty  the  incarnation  of 
the  Ideal ;  he  saw  in  Morality  the  high  and  harmoni- 
ous action  of  all  human  tendencies ;  he  saw  in  Art  the 
highest  representation  of  Life.     Nature,  Nature,  Nature, 
is  everywhere  the  burden  of  his  striving.     It  was  to 
him   an  inexhaustible  mystery  and  delight ;  its  com- 
monest details  were   of  divine  significance.     To  over- 
look and  undervalue  the  facts  of  Nature,  and  to  fix 
attention  on  fleeting  personal  impressions,  or   purely 
individual  fancies,  was  a  sign  of  decadence  at  every 
period   of  history.     "No   one    merits    the    name  of  a 
poet,  nor  of  a  philosopher,  unless  he    can    assimilate 
Nature,  and  paint  it  or  explain  it."     He  boasted  that, 
unlike  so  many  of  his  contemporaries,  he  had  "  never 
thought    about  tliinking;"  and  had  carefully  avoided 
mingling  his  personality  with  the  great  impersonality 
of  Nature.     His  vision  was  all  directed  outwards.     If 
we  look  through  his  works  with  critical  attention,  we 
shall  observe  the   objective   tendency  determining  — 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  75 

first,  his  choice  of  subjects ;  secondly,  his  handling  of 
character ;  and,  thirdly,  his  style.  Intimately  con- 
nected with  this  concreteness  is  another  characteristic 
of  his  genius.  His  imagination  was  not,  like  that  of 
many  poets,  incessantly  at  work  in  the  combination 
and  recombination  of  images  which  could  be  accepted 
for  their  own  sake.  It  demanded  the  confrontation 
with  fact ;  it  moved  with  ease  only  on  the  secure 
ground  of  Reality.  In  science  there  are  men  whose 
active  imaginations  carry  them  into  hypothesis  and 
speculation,  all  the  more  easily  because  they  do  not 
bring  hypothesis  to  the  stern  test  of  fact.  The  mere 
delight  in  combining  ideas  suffices  them:  provided  the 
deductions  are  logical,  they  seem  almost  indifferent  to 
their  truth.  There  are  poets  of  this  order;  indeed 
most  poets  are  of  this  order.  Goethe  was  of  a  quite 
opposite  tendency.  In  him  an  imperious  desire  for 
reahty  controlled  the  errant  facility  of  imagination. 
"  The  first  and  last  thing  demanded  of  Genius,"  he 
says,  "  is  love  of  truth." 

Hence  we  see  why  he  was  led  to  portray  men  and 
women  instead  of  demigods  and  angels ;  no  Posas  and 
Theklas,  but  Egmonts  and  Clarchens.  Hence  also  his 
portraitures  carry  their  moral  with  them,  in  them,  but 
have  no  moral  superposed,  —  no  accompanying  verdict 
as  from  some  outside  judge.  His  drama  is  without  a 
chorus.  Further,  —  and  this  is  a  point  to  be  insisted 
on,  —  his  style  both  in  poetry  and  prose,  is  subject  to 
the  same  law.  It  is  \avid  with  pictures,  but  it  has 
scarcely  any  extraneous  imagery.  Most  poets  describe 
object  by  metaphors  or  comparisons ;  Goethe  seldom 
tells  you  what  an  object  is  lihe,  he  tells  you  what  it  is. 
Shakespeare  is  very  unlike  Goethe  in  this  respect. 
The  prodigal  luxuriance  of  his  imagery  often  entangles, 
in  its  overgrowth,  the  movement  of  his  verse.  It  is 
true,  he  also  is  eminently  concrete ;  he  sees  the  real 
object  vividly,  and  he  makes  us  see  it  vividly  ;  but  he 


76  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

scarcely  ever  paints  it  save  in  the  colours  of  metaphor 
and  simile.  Shakespeare's  imagery  bubbles  up  like  a 
perpetual  spring :  to  say  that  it  repeatedly  overfioivs,  is 
only  to  say  that  his  mind  was  lured  by  its  own  sirens 
away  from  the  direct  path.  He  did  not  master  his 
Pegasus  at  all  times,  but  let  the  wild  careering  creature 
take  its  winged  way.  Goethe,  on  the  contrary,  always 
masters  his :  perhaps  because  his  steed  had  less  of 
restive  life  in  its  veins.  Not  only  does  he  master  it, 
and  ride  with  calm  assured  grace,  he  seems  so  bent  on 
reaching  the  goal,  that  he  scarcely  thinks  of  anything 
else.  To  quit  metaphor,  he  may  be  said  to  use  with 
the  utmost  sparingness  all  the  extraneous  aids  of 
imagery  ;  he  tries  to  create  images  of  the  objects,  rather 
than  other  images  of  what  the  objects  are  like. 

Shakespeare,  like  Goethe,  was  a  decided  realist.  He, 
too,  was  content  to  let  his  pictures  of  life  carry  their 
own  moral  with  them.  He  uttered  no  moral  verdict ; 
he  was  no  Chorus  preaching  on  the  text  of  what  was 
pictured.  Hence  we  cannot  gather  from  his  works 
what  were  his  opinions.  But  there  is  this  difference 
between  him  and  Goethe,  that  his  intense  sympathy 
with  the  energetic  passions  and  fierce  volitions  of  our 
race  made  liim  delight  in  heroic  characters,  in  men  of 
robust  frames  and  impassioned  lives.  Goethe,  with  an 
infusion  of  the  best  blood  of  Schiller,  would  have  been 
a  Shakespeare  ;  but,  such  as  Nature  made  him  he  was  — 
Goethe,  not  Shakespeare. 

Turning  from  these  abstract  considerations  to  the  two 
earhest  works  which  form  our  text,  we  observe  how 
this  youth  is  determined  in  the  choice  of  his  subject 
by  the  realistic  tendency.  Instead  of  ranging  through 
tlif!  enchanted  gardens  of  Arniida  —  instead  of  throw- 
ing himself  back  into  the  distant  l\ist,  thus  escaping 
from  tlie  trammels  of  a  modern  subject,  which  the  con- 
frontation of  reality  always  makes  more  difficult  —  tliis 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  77 

boy  fashions  into  verse  his  own  experience,  his  own 
observation.  He  looks  into  his  own  heart  —  he  peers 
into  the  byways  of  civihsatiou,  walking  with  curious 
observation  through  squalid  streets  and  dark  fearful 
alleys.  Singular,  moreover,  is  the  absence  of  any  fierce 
indignation,  any  cry  of  pain  at  the  sight  of  so  much 
corruption  underlying  the  surface  of  society.  In  youth 
the  loss  of  illusions  is  generally  followed  by  a  cynical 
misanthropy,  or  a  vehement  protest.  But  Goethe  is 
neither  cynical  nor  indignant.  He  seems  to  accept  the 
fact  as  a  thing  to  be  admitted,  and  quietly  striven 
against,  with  a  view  to  its  amehoration.  He  seems  to 
think  with  the  younger  Phny,  that  indulgence  is  a  part 
of  justice,  and  would  cite  with  approval  the  favourite 
maxim  of  the  austere  yet  humane  Thraseas,  qui  vitia 
odit  homines  odit,  —  he  who  hates  vices  hates  man- 
kind.i  For  in  the  "  Mitschuldigen  "  he  presents  us  with 
a  set  of  people  whose  consolation  is  to  exclaim  "  Eogues 
all ! "  —  and  in  after  years  he  wrote  of  this  piece,  that 
it  was  dictated,  though  unconsciously,  by  "  far-sighted 
tolerance  in  the  appreciation  of  moral  actions,  as  ex- 
pressed in  the  eminently  Christian  sentence,  '  Let  him 
who  is  without  sin  among  you  cast  the  first  stoiu.' " 

1  Pliny,  Epist.,  lib.  viii.  22.  After  I  had  written  this  sentence, 
SchoU  published  Goethe's  Note-book  kept  at  Strasburg,  wherein  I 
found  this  very  aphorism  transcribed. 


CHAPTER   III. 

ART   STUDIES. 

Frau  Bohme  died.  In  her  he  lost  a  monitress  and 
friend,  who  had  kept  some  check  on  his  waywardness, 
and  drawn  him  into  society.  The  Professor  had  long 
since  cooled  towards  him,  after  giving  up  all  hopes  of 
making  him  another  Heineccius,  A  youth  with  such 
remarkable  dispositions,  who  would  not  be  assiduous  in 
attendance  at  lecture,  and  whose  amusement  during 
lecture  was  to  sketch  caricatures  of  various  law  digni- 
taries in  his  note-book :  another  ornament  to  jurispru- 
dence irrecoverably  lost !  Indeed,  the  collegiate  aspect 
of  this  Leipsic  residence  is  not  one  promising  to  pro- 
fessors ;  but  we  —  instructed  by  the  result  —  know 
how  much  better  he  was  employed,  than  if  he  had 
tilled  a  hundred  volumes  of  note-books  by  diligent 
attendance  at  lecture.  He  studied  much,  in  a  desul- 
tory manner ;  he  studied  Moliere  and  Corneille  ;  he 
began  to  translate  "  Le  Menteur."  The  theatre  was  a 
perpetual  attraction  ;  and  even  the  uneasy,  unsatisfied 
condition  of  his  afl'ections,  was  instructing  him  in 
directions  whither  no  professor  could  lead  liim.  But 
greater  than  all  this  was  the  influence  of  Shakespeare, 
whom  he  first  learned  a  httle  of  through  Dodd's 
"  l>eauties  of  Shakespeare,"  a  work  not  much  prized  in 
England,  wliere  tlie  plays  form  part  of  our  traditional 
education,  but  wbicli  nmst  have  been  a  revelatitm  to 
the  Germans,  something  analogous  to  what  Charles 
Laml/s  "  Specimens  of  the  Old  Eughsh  Drama  "  was  to 

78 


LIFE  AND  WORKS   OF  GOETHE  79 

US.  The  strength  and  beauty  of  language,  the  bold 
and  natural  imagery  of  these  "  Beauties,"  startled  the 
young  poets  of  that  day,  like  the  discovery  of  huge 
fossil  remains  of  some  antediluvian  fauna ;  "  and  to 
gratify  the  curiosity  thus  awakened,"  he  says,  "  there 
came  Wieland's  prose  translation  of  several  plays, 
which  we  studied  with  enthusiasm."  ^ 

There  are  no  materials  to  till  up  the  gaps  of  his 
narrative  here,  so  that  I  am  forced  to  leave  much  in- 
distinct. For  instance,  he  has  told  us  that  Kilthchen 
and  he  were  no  longer  lovers  ;  but  we  find  him  writing 
to  her  in  a  lover-like  tone  from  Frankfort,  and  we 
know  that  friendly  intercourse  still  subsisted  between 
them.  Of  this,  however,  not  a  word  occurs  in  the 
Autobiography.  Nor  are  we  accurately  informed  how 
he  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  Breitkopf  family. 
Breitkopf  was  a  bookseller  in  Leipsic,  in  whose  house 
Literature  and  Music  were  highly  prized.  Bernhard, 
the  eldest  son,  was  an  excellent  performer,  and  com- 
posed music  to  Goethe's  songs,  which  were  pubhshed 
in  1769,  under  this  title  :  "  Neue  Lieder  in  Melodieen 
gesetzt  von  Bernhard  Theodor  Breitkopf."  The  poet  is 
not  named.  This  Liederhuch  contains  twenty  songs, 
the  majority  of  which  were  subsequently  reprinted  in 
the  poet's  works.  They  are  love  songs,  and  contain 
a  love-philosophy  more  like  what  is  to  be  found  in 
Catullus,  Horace,  and  Wieland,  than  what  one  would 
expect  from  a  boy,  did  we  not  remember  how  the 
braggadocio  of  youth  delights  in  expressing  rouS  senti- 
ments, as  if  to  give  itself  airs  of  profound  experience. 
This  youth  sings  with  gusto  of  inconstancy : 

"  Da  fiihl  ich  die  Freuden  der  wechselden  Lust." 


1  It  is  possible  that  Wieland's  translation  only  then  fell  into 
Goethe's  hands,  but  the  publication  was  commenced  before  his 
arrival  in  Leipsic,  namely,  in  17GL 


So  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

He  gaily  declares  that  if  one  mistress  leaves  you,  an- 
other will  love  you,  and  the  second  is  sweeter  to  kiss 
than  the  first : 

"  Es  kiisst  sich  so  susse  der  Busen  der  Zweiten, 
Als  kaum  sich  der  Busen  der  Ersten  gektisst." 

Through  Breitkopf  he  learned  to  know  Hiller ;  and 
among  Killer's  pupils  was  the  Corona  Schroter,  whom 
we  shall  meet  hereafter  in  the  Weimar  circle.  She 
was  a  year  older  than  Goethe,  and  surrounded  with 
admirers,  both  of  her  beauty  and  her  talents.  He  is 
said,  I  know  not  on  what  evidence,  to  have  lent  his 
poetical  talent  to  some  of  these  admirers. 

Another  acquaintance,  and  one  more  directly  in- 
fluential, was  that  of  Oeser,  the  director  of  the  Draw- 
ing Academy.  He  had  been  the  friend  and  teacher  of 
Winckelmann,  and  his  name  stood  high  among  connois- 
seurs. Goethe,  who  at  home  had  learned  a  little 
drawing,  joined  Oeser's  class,  where,  among  other 
fellow  students,  was  the  Hardenberg  who  afterward 
made  such  a  noise  in  the  Prussian  political  world.  He 
joined  the  class,  and  did  his  best  to  acquire  by  labour 
the  skill  which  only  talent  can  acquire.  That  he  made 
httle  progress  in  drawing,  we  learn  from  his  subsequent 
confession,  no  less  than  from  his  failure ;  but  tuition 
had  this  effect  at  least  —  it  taught  him  to  use  his  eyes. 
In  a  future  chapter  ^  I  shall  have  occasion  to  enter 
more  fully  on  this  subject.  Enough  if  for  the  present 
a  sentence  or  two  from  his  letters  tell  us  the  enthu- 
siasm Oeser  inspired.  "  What  do  I  not  owe  to  you," 
he  writes  to  him,  "for  having  pointed  out  to  me  the 
way  of  the  True  and  the  Beautiful !  "  and  concludes 
by  saying,  "  the  undersigned  is  your  work  !  "  Writing 
to  a  friend  of  Oeser's,  he  says  that  Oeser  stands  beside 
Shakespeare  and  Wielaud  in  the  influence  exercised 
over  him.     "  His  instruction  will   influence  my  whole 

iSee  Book  V.,  ch.  v. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  8i 

life.  He  it  was  who  taught  me  that  the  Ideal  of 
Beauty  is  Simplicity  aud  Repose,  and  thence  it  follows 
that  no  youth  can  be  a  master." 

Instruction  in  the  theory  of  Art  he  gained  from  Oeser, 
from  Winckelmann,  and  from  "  Laokoon,"  the  incompa- 
rable little  book  which  Lessing  at  this  period  carelessly 
flung  upon  the  world.  Its  effect  upon  Goethe  can 
only  be  appreciated  by  those  who  early  in  life  have 
met  with  this  work,  and  risen  from  it  with  minds 
widened,  strengthened,  and  inspired.^  It  opened  a 
pathway  amid  confusion,  throwing  light  upon  many  of 
the  obscurest  problems  which  torment  the  artist.  It 
awakened  in  Goethe  an  intense  yearning  to  see  the 
works  of  ancient  masters ;  and  these  beckoned  from 
Dresden.  To  Dresden  he  went.  But  here,  in  spite  of 
Oeser,  Winckelmann,  and  Lessing,  in  spite  of  grand 
phrases  about  Art,  the  invincible  tendency  of  his  natvire 
asserted  itself,  and  instead  of  falhng  into  raptures  with 
the  great  Italian  pictures,  he  confesses  that  he  took 
their  merits  upon  trust,  and  was  really  charmed  by 
none  but  the  landscape  and  Dutch  painters,  whose  sub- 
jects appealed  directly  to  his  experience.  He  did  not 
feel  the  greatness  of  Itahan  Art ;  and  what  he  did  not 
feel  he  would  not  feign. 

It  is  worth  noticing  that  this  trip  to  Dresden  was 
taken  in  absolute  secrecy.  As,  many  years  later,  he 
stole  away  to  Italy  without  letting  his  friends  even 
suspect  his  project,  so  now  he  left  Leipsic  for  Dresden 
without  a  word  of  intimation.  Probably  the  same 
motive  actuated  him  in  both  instances.  He  went  to 
see,  to  enjoy,  to  learn,  and  did  not  want  to  be  disturbed 
by  personal  influence  —  by  other  people's  opinions. 

On  his  return  he  was  active  enough  with  drawing. 
He    made   the    acquaintance    of    an    engraver    named 

1  Lord  Macaulay  told  me  that  the  reading  of  this  little  book 
formed  an  epoch  in  his  mental  history;  aud  that  he  leai'iied 
more  from  it  than  he  had  ever  learned  elsewhere. 


82  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Stock,^  and  with  his  usual  propensity  to  try  his  hand 
at  whatever  his  friends  were  doing,  he  forthwith  began 
to  learn  engraving.  In  the  Morgc7iblatt  for  1828  there 
is  a  detailed  account  of  two  of  his  engravings,  both 
representing  landscapes  with  small  cascades  shut  in  by 
rocks  and  grottoes ;  at  the  foot  of  each  are  these  words : 
"■  'p&int  par  A.  TJieile,  grave  par  Goethe."  One  plate  is 
dedicated  "  a  Monsieur  Goethe,  Conseiller  actuel  dc  S.M. 
Imperiale  par  son  Jils  tres-oheissant."  In  the  room 
which  they  show  to  strangers  in  his  house  in  Frank- 
fort, there  is  also  a  specimen  of  his  engraving  —  very 
amateurish ;  but  Madame  von  Goethe  showed  me  one 
in  her  possession  which  really  has  merit. 

Melancholy,  wayward,  and  capricious,  he  allowed 
Lessing  to  pass  through  Leipsic  without  making  any 
attempt  to  see  the  man  he  so  much  admired :  a  caprice 
he  afterward  repented,  for  the  opportunity  never 
recurred.  Something  of  his  hypochondria  was  due  to 
mental,  but  more  to  physical  causes.  Dissipation,  bad 
diet  (especially  the  beer  and  coffee),  and  absurd  endeav- 
ours to  carry  out  Eousseau's  preaching  about  returning 
to  a  state  of  nature,  had  seriously  affected  his  health. 
The  crisis  came  at  last.  One  summer  night  (1768)  he 
was  seized  with  violent  hemorrhage.  He  had  only 
strength  enough  to  call  to  his  aid  the  fellow  student 
who  slept  in  the  next  room.  Medical  assistance 
promptly  came.  He  was  saved ;  but  his  convalescence 
was  embittered  by  the  discovery  of  a  tumour  on  his 
neck,  which  lasted  some  time.  His  recovery  was  slow, 
but  it  seemed  as  if  it  relieved  him  from  all  the  peccant 
humours  which  had  made  him  hypocliondriacal,  leav- 
ing beliind  an  inward  hghtness  and  joyousness  to  which 
he  had  long  been  a  stranger.  One  tiling  greatly  touched 
him — the    sympathy    expressed    for    him  by  several 

^This  Stock  had  two  amiable  daughters,  one  of  whom  maiTied 
(1785)  Korner,  the  correspondeut  of  Schiller,  and  father  of  the 
poet. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  83 

eminent  men  ;  a  sympathy  he  felt  to  be  (|uite  unde- 
served, for  there  was  not  one  among  them  whom  he 
had  not  vexed  or  affronted  by  his  caprices,  extrava- 
gances, morbid  opposition,  and  stubborn  persistence. 

One  of  these  friends,  Langer,  not  only  made  an  ex- 
change of  books  with  him,  giving  a  set  of  Classic 
authors  for  a  set  of  German,  but  also,  in  devout  yet 
not  dogmatic  conversation,  led  his  young  friend  to 
regard  the  Bible  in  another  light  than  that  of  a  merely 
human  composition.  "  I  loved  the  Bible  and  valued 
it,  for  it  was  almost  the  only  book  to  which  I  owed 
my  moral  culture.  Its  events,  dogmas,  and  symbols 
were  deeply  impressed  on  my  mind."  He  therefore 
felt  little  sympathy  with  the  Deists  who  were  at  this 
time  agitating  Europe ;  and  although  his  tendency  was 
strongly  against  the  Mystics,  he  was  afraid  lest  the 
poetical  spirit  should  be  swept  away  along  with  the 
prophetical.  In  one  word,  he  was  in  a  state  of  religious 
doubt  —  "destitute  of  faith,  yet  terrified  at  scepticism." 

This  imrest  and  this  bodily  weakness  he  carried 
with  him,  September,  1768,  from  Leipsic  to  Frankfort, 
whither  we  will  follow  him. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

RETURN  HOME. 

He  returned  home  a  boy  in  years,  in  experience  a 
man.  Broken  in  health,  unhappy  in  mind,  with  no 
strong  impulses  in  any  one  direction,  uncertain  of  him- 
self and  of  his  aims,  he  felt,  as  he  approached  his 
native  city,  much  hke  a  repentant  prodigal,  who  has 
no  \'ision  of  the  fatted  calf  awaiting  him.  His  father, 
unable  to  perceive  the  real  progress  he  had  made,  was 
very  much  alive  to  the  slender  prospect  of  his  becom- 
ing a  distinguished  jurist.  The  fathers  of  poets  are 
seldom  gratified  with  the  progress  in  education  visible 
to  them  ;  and  the  reason  is  that  they  do  not  know 
their  sons  to  be  poets,  nor  understand  that  the  poet's 
orbit  is  not  the  same  as  their  own.  They  tread  the 
common  highway  on  which  the  milestones  accurately 
mark  distances ;  and  seeing  that  their  sons  have 
trudged  but  httle  way  according  to  this  measurement, 
are  filled  with  misgivings.  Of  that  silent  progress, 
which  consists  less  in  travelling  on  the  broad  highway, 
than  in  development  of  the  limbs  which  will  make  a 
sturdy  traveller,  parents  seldom  judge. 

Mother  and  sister,  however,  touched  by  the  worn 
face,  and,  woman-like,  more  interested  in  the  man  than 
what  he  had  achieved,  received  him  with  an  aflection 
which  compensated  for  his  father's  coldness.  There  is 
quite  a  pathetic  glimpse  given  of  this  domestic  interior 
in  the  Autobiography,  where  he  alludes  to  his  father's 
impatience  at  his  illness,  and  anxiety  for  his  speedy 
recovery.     And  we  gladlv  escape  from  this  picture  to 

'84 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  85 

the  Letters  written  from  Frankfort  to  his  old  love, 
Kiithchen  Schoukopf.^  It  appears  that  he  left  Leipsic 
without  saying  adieu.     He  thus  refers  to  it : 

"  Apropos,  you  will  forgive  me  that  I  did  not  take 
leave  of  you.  I  was  in  the  neighbourhood,  I  was  even 
below  at  the  door ;  /  saiu  the  lamp  burning  and  went 
to  the  steps,  but  I  had  not  the  courage  to  mount.  For 
the  last  time  — how  should  I  have  come  down  again  ? 

"  Thus  I  now  do  what  I  ought  to  have  done  then :  I 
thank  you  for  all  the  love  and  friendship  which  you 
have  constantly  shown  me,  and  which  I  shall  never 
forget.  I  need  not  beg  you  to  remember  me,  —  a 
thousand  occasions  will  arise  which  must  remind  you 
of  a  man  who  for  two  years  and  a  half  was  part  of 
your  family,  who  indeed  often  gave  you  cause  for  dis- 
pleasure, but  stni  was  always  a  good  lad,  and  whom  it 
is  to  be  hoped  you  will  often  miss ;  at  least,  I  often 
miss  you." 

The  tumour  on  liis  neck  became  alarming :  the  more 
so  as  the  surgeons,  uncertain  about  its  nature,  were 
wavering  in  their  treatment.  Frequent  cauterisation, 
and  constant  confinement  to  his  room,  were  the  worst 
parts  of  the  cure.  He  read,  drew,  and  etched  to  while 
away  tlie  time.  It  was  also  perhaps  at  this  period 
that  he  completed  the  two  plays  which  he  had  roughly 
sketched  at  Leipsic,  and  of  which  an  account  has 
already  been  given  in  the  preceding  chapter.  By  the 
end  of  the  year  this  letter  to  Kathcheu  announces  his 
recovery. 

"  My  best,  anxious  friend  :  —  You  will  doubtless 
have  heard  from  Horn,  on  the  new  year,  the  news  of 
my  recovery ;  and  I  hasten  to  confirm  it.  Yes,  dear 
friend,  it  is  over,  and  in  future  you  must  take  it  quietly, 
even  if  you  hear  —  he  is  laid  up  again !     You  know 

1  Printed  in  "  Goethe's  Brief e  an  seine  Leipziger  Freunde." 
Ilerausgegeben  von  Otto  Jahn. 


86  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

that  my  constitution  often  makes  a  slip,  and  in  a  week 
gets  on  its  legs  again  ;  this  time  it  was  bad,  and  seemed 
yet  worse  than  it  was,  and  was  attended  with  terrible 
pains.  Misfortune  is  also  a  good.  I  have  learned 
much  in  illness  which  I  could  have  learned  nowhere 
else  in  life.  It  is  over,  and  I  am  quite  brisk  again, 
though  for  three  whole  weeks  I  have  not  left  my  room, 
and  scarcely  any  one  has  visited  me  but  my  doctor, 
who,  thank  God  !  is  an  amiable  man  !  An  odd  thing  it 
is  in  us  men :  when  I  was  in  lively  society  I  was  out  of 
spirits,  now  I  am  forsaken  by  all  the  world  I  am  cheer- 
ful ;  for  even  throughout  my  illness  my  cheerfulness 
has  comforted  my  family,  who  were  not  in  a  condition 
to  comfort  themselves,  to  say  nothing  of  me.  The  new 
year's  song  which  you  have  also  received,  I  composed 
duriug  an  attack  of  great  foolery,  and  had  it  printed 
for  the  sake  of  amusement.  Besides  this,  I  draw  a 
great  deal,  write  tales,  and  am  contented  with  myself. 
God  give  me,  this  new  year,  what  is  good  for  me ;  may 
He  do  the  same  for  all  of  us,  and  if  we  pray  for  noth- 
ing more  than  this,  we  may  certainly  hope  that  He 
will  give  it  us.  If  I  can  only  get  along  till  April,  I 
shall  easily  reconcile  myself  to  my  condition.  Then  I 
hope  things  will  be  better ;  in  particular  my  health 
may  make  progress  daily,  because  it  is  now  known 
precisely  what  is  tlie  matter  with  me.  My  lungs  are 
as  sound  as  possible,  but  there  is  something  wrong  at 
the  stomach.  And,  in  confidence,  I  have  had  hopes 
given  me  of  a  pleasant,  enjoyable  mode  of  life,  so  that 
my  mind  is  quite  cheerful  and  at  rest.  As  soon  as  I 
am  better  again  I  shall  go  away  into  foreign  countries, 
and  it  will  depend  only  on  you  and  another  person 
how  soon  I  shall  see  Leipsic  again ;  in  the  meantime  I 
think  of  going  to  France  to  see  what  French  life  is, 
and  learn  the  French  language.  So  you  can  imagine 
wliat  a  charming  man  I  shall  be  when  I  return  to  you. 
It   often  occurs  to  me,  that  it  would  be  a  laughable 


feol^ 


n 


'i. 


my  t  -• 

d 


"  Kiilh  Monl:^  gave  a  great  putty  " 

Phoiogravurc  from  uie  pamtuig  by  Kirkbach 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  87 

affair,  if,  in  spite  of  all  my  projects,  I  were  to  die  be- 
fore Easter.  In  that  case  I  would  order  a  gravestone 
for  myself  in  Leipsic  churchyard,  that  at  least  every 
year  on  St.  John's  Day  you  might  visit  the  figure  of 
St.  John  and  my  grave.     "\Miat  do  you  think  ? " 

To  celebrate  his  recovery.  Rath  Moritz  gave  a  great 
party,  at  which  all  the  Frankfort  friends  assembled. 
In  a  little  while,  however,  another  illness  came  to  lay 
the  poet  low ;  and,  worse  than  all,  there  carae  the 
news  from  Leipsic  that  Kiitchen  was  engaged  to  a 
Doctor  Kanne,  whom  Goethe  had  introduced  to  her. 
This  for  ever  decided  his  restlessness  about  her.  Here 
is  a  letter  from  him. 

"My  dear,  my  beloved  friend:  —  A  dream  last 
night  has  reminded  me  that  I  owe  you  an  answer. 
Not  that  I  had  entirely  forgotten  it  —  nor  that  I  never 
think  of  you  :  no,  my  dear  friend,  every  day  says  some- 
thing to  me  of  you  and  of  my  faults.  But  it  is  strange, 
and  it  is  an  experience  which  perhaps  you  also  know, 
the  remembrance  of  the  absent,  though  not  extin- 
guished by  time,  is  veiled.  The  distractions  of  our  life, 
acquaintance  with  new  objects,  in  short,  every  change 
in  our  circumstances,  do  to  our  hearts  what  smoke 
and  dirt  do  to  a  picture  —  they  make  the  delicate 
touchas  quite  undisceruible,  and  in  such  a  way  that 
one  does  not  know  how  it  comes  to  pass.  A  thou- 
sand things  remind  me  of  you ;  1  see  your  image 
a  thousand  times,  but  as  faintly,  and  often  with  as 
little  emotion,  as  if  I  thought  of  some  one  quite 
strange  to  me ;  it  often  occurs  to  me  that  I  owe  vou 
an  answer,  without  my  feeling  the  slightest  impulse 
to  write  to  you.  Now,  when  I  read  your  kind  let- 
ter, which  is  already  some  montlis  old,  and  see  your 
friendsliip  and  your  solicitude  for  one  so  unworthy,  I 
am  shocked  at  myself,  and  for  the  first  time  feel  what 


S8  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

a  change  has  taken  place  in  my  heart,  that  I  can  be 
without  joy  at  that  which  formerly  would  have  lifted 
me  up  to  heaven.  Forgive  me  this !  Can  one  blame 
an  unfortunate  man  because  he  is  unable  to  rejoice  ? 
^ly  wretchedness  has  made  me  dead  to  the  good  which 
still  remains  to  me.  My  body  is  restored,  but  my 
mind  is  still  uncured.  I  am  in  dull,  inactive  repose ; 
that  is  not  happiness.  And  in  this  quietude  my  imag- 
ination is  so  stagnant,  that  I  can  no  longer  picture  to 
myself  what  was  once  dearest  to  me.  It  is  only  in  a 
dream  that  my  heart  often  appears  to  me  as  it  is  — 
only  a  dream  is  capable  of  recalling  to  me  the  sw^eet 
images,  of  so  recalling  them  as  to  reanimate  my  feel- 
ings ;  I  have  already  told  you  that  you  are  indebted  to 
a  dream  for  this  letter.  I  saw  you,  I  was  with  you ; 
how  it  was,  is  too  strange  for  me  to  relate  to  you.  In 
one  word,  you  were  married.  Is  that  true  ?  I  took 
up  your  kind  letter,  and  it  agrees  with  the  time ;  if  it 
is  true,  oh,  may  that  be  the  beginning  of  your  hap- 
piness ! 

"  When  I  think  of  this  disinterestedly,  how  I  do 
rejoice  to  know  that  you,  my  best  friend,  you,  before 
every  other  who  envied  you  and  fancied  herself  better 
than  you,  are  in  the  arms  of  a  worthy  husband ;  to 
know  tliat  you  arc  happy,  and  freed  from  every  annoy- 
ance to  which  a  single  state,  and  especially  your  single 
state,  was  exposed!  I  thank  my  dream  that*  it  has 
vividly  depicted  your  happiness  to  me,  and  the  happi- 
ness of  your  husl)and,  and  his  reward  for  having  made 
you  happy.  Obtain  me  his  friendship  in  virtue  of 
your  being  my  friend,  for  you  must  have  all  things  in 
common,  even  including  friends.  If  I  may  believe 
my  dream,  we  shall  see  each  other  again,  but  I  hope 
not  so  very  quickly,  and  for  my  part  I  shall  try  to 
defer  its  fulfilment.  If,  indeed,  a  man  can  undertake 
anything  in  ojiposition  to  destiny.  Fonncrly  I  wrote 
to  you  somewhat  enigmatically  about  what  was  to  be- 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  89 

come  of  me.  Now  I  may  say  more  plainly  that  I  am 
about  to  change  my  place  of  residence,  and  move  far- 
ther from  you.  Nothing  will  any  more  remind  me  of 
Leipsic,  except,  perhaps,  a  restless  dream ;  no  friend 
who  comes  from  thence ;  no  letter.  And  yet  I  per- 
ceive that  this  will  be  no  help  to  me.  Patience,  time 
and  distance  will  do  that  which  nothing  else  can  do ; 
they  will  annihilate  every  unpleasant  impression,  and 
give  us  back  our  friendship,  with  contentment  with 
life,  so  that  after  a  series  of  years  we  may  see  each 
other  agaiu  with  altogether  different  eyes,  but  with 
the  same  heart.  Within  a  quarter  of  a  year  you  shall 
have  another  letter  from  me,  which  will  tell  you  of 
my  destination  and  the  time  of  my  departure,  and 
which  can  once  more  say  to  superfluity  what  I  have 
already  said  a  thousand  times.  I  entreat  you  not  to 
answer  me  any  more ;  if  you  have  anything  more  to 
say  to  me,  let  me  know  it  through  a  friend.  That  is 
a  melancholy  entreaty,  my  best !  you,  the  only  one  of 
all  her  sex,  whom  I  cannot  call  friend,  for  that  is  an 
insignificant  title  compared  with  what  I  feel.  I  wish 
not  to  see  your  writing  again,  just  as  I  %vish  not  to 
hear  your  voice ;  it  is  painful  enough  for  me  that  my 
dreams  are  so  busy.  You  shall  have  one  more  letter ; 
that  promise  I  will  sacredly  keep,  and  so  pay  a  part  of 
my  debts ;  the  rest  you  must  forgive  me." 

To  round  off  this  story,  the  following  extract  may 
be  given  from  the  last  letter  which  has  been  preserved 
of  those  he  wrote  to  her.  It  is  dated  Frankfort,  Jan- 
uary, 1770. 

"  That  I  live  peacefully  is  all  that  I  can  say  to  you 
of  myself,  and  vigorously,  and  healthily,  and  industri- 
ously, for  I  have  no  woman  in  my  head.  Horn  and  I 
are  still  good  friends,  but,  so  it  happens  in  the  world, 
he  has  his  thoughts  and  ways,  and  I  have  my  thoughts 
and  ways,  and  so  a  week  passes  and  we  scarcely  see 


90  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

each  other  once.  But,  everything  considered,  I  am  at 
last  tired  of  Frankfort,  and  at  the  end  of  March  I 
shall  leave  it.  I  must  not  yet  go  to  you,  I  perceive ; 
for  if  I  came  at  Easter  you  would  not  be  married. 
And  Kiithchen  Schoukopf  I  will  not  see  again,  if  I 
am  not  to  see  her  under  another  name.  At  the  end 
of  March,  therefore,  I  go  to  Strasburg ;  if  you  care  to 
know  that,  as  I  believe  you  do.  Will  you  write  to  me 
to  Strasburg  also  ?  You  will  play  me  no  trick.  For, 
Kiithchen  Schonkopf,  now  I  know  perfectly  that  a 
letter  from  you  is  as  dear  to  me  as  from  any  hand  in 
the  world.  You  were  always  a  sweet  girl  and  will  be 
a  sweet  woman.  And  I,  I  shall  remain  Goethe,  You 
know  what  that  means.  If  I  name  my  name,  I  name 
my  whole  self,  and  you  know  that  so  long  as  I  have 
known  you  I  have  hved  only  as  part  of  you." 

So  fall  away  the  young  blossoms  of  love  which  have 
not  the  force  to  ripen  into  fruit.  "  The  most  lovable 
heart,"  he  writes  to  Kathchen,  with  a  certain  bit  of 
humour,  "is  that  wliicli  loves  the  most  readily;  but 
that  which  easily  loves  also  easily  forgets."  It  was 
his  case ;  he  could  not  be  happy  without  some  one  to 
love  ;  but  his  mobile  nature  soon  dried  the  tears  wrung 
from  him  l>y  her  loss. 

Turning  once  more  to  his  domestic  condition,  we 
find  him  in  cold,  unpleasant  relations  with  his  father, 
who  had  almost  excited  the  hatred  of  his  other  child, 
Cornelia,  by  the  stern,  pedantic,  pedagogic  way  in 
wliich  he  treated  her.  The  old  man  continued  to  busy 
liimself  with  writing  his  travels  in  Italy,  and  with 
instructing  his  daugliter.  She,  who  was  of  a  restless, 
excitable,  almost  morbid  disposition,  secretly  rebelled 
against  his  tyranny,  and  made  her  brother  the  confi- 
dant of  all  her  griefs.  The  poor  niotlier  had  a  terrilile 
time  of  it,  trying  to  pacify  the  cliildren,  and  to  stand 
Ixitween  them  and  their  father. 

Very  noticeable  is  one  detail  recorded  by  him.     He 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  91 

had  fallen  ill  agaiu ;  tliis  time  with  a  stomach  disorder, 
which  no  therapeutic  treatment  in  the  power  of  Frank- 
fort medicine  seemed  to  mitigate.  The  family  physi- 
cian was  one  of  those  duped  dupers  who  still  clung  to 
the  great  promises  of  Alchemy.  It  was  whispered 
that  he  had  in  his  possession  a  marvellous  panacea 
which  was  only  to  he  employed  in  times  of  gi-eatest 
need,  and  of  which,  indeed,  no  one  dared  openly 
speak.  Frau  Aja,  trembling  for  her  son,  besought  him 
to  employ  this  mysterious  salt.  He  consented.  The 
patient  recovered,  and  belief  in  the  physician's  skill 
became  more  complete.  Not  only  was  the  poet  thus 
restored  once  more  to  health,  he  was  also  thereby  led 
to  the  study  of  Alchemy,  and,  as  he  narrates,  employed 
himself  in  researches  after  the  "  virgin  earth."  In  the 
little  study  of  that  house  in  the  Hirsch-yrahen,  he  col- 
lected his  glasses  and  retorts,  and  following  the  direc- 
tions of  authorities,  sought,  for  a  time,  to  penetrate  the 
mystery  which  then  seemed  so  penetrable.  It  is  char- 
acteristic of  his  ardent  curiosity  and  volatility  that  he 
should  have  now  devoted  the  long  hours  of  study  to 
works  such  as  Welling's  "  Opus  Mago-cabbalisticum  et 
Theosophicum,"  and  the  unintelligible  mystifications 
and  diatribes  of  Paracelsus.  He  also  tried  Van  Hel- 
mont  (an  interesting  though  fantastic  writer),  Basil 
Valentme,  and  other  Alchemists.  These,  however, 
must  quickly  have  been  laid  aside.  They  were  re- 
placed by  the  "  Compendium  "  and  the  "  Aphorisms  " 
of  Boerhaave,  who  at  that  period  filled  Europe  with 
the  sound  of  his  name.^  Goethe's  studies  of  these 
writings  were  valuable  as  preparations  for  "  Faust ; " 
and  were  not  without  influence  on  his  subsequent 
career  in  science. 

1  So  little  can  contemporary  verdicts  settle  an  author's  position, 
that  Boerhaave,  whose  "Institutions"  were  thought  worthy  of  a 
commentary  in  seven  quartos  by  the  great  Haller,  and  whose 
"Aphorisms"  were  expanded  into  five  quartos  by  the  illustrious 
Van  Swieten,  is  now  nothing  but  a  name. 


92  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Ilenewed  intercourse  with  Friiulein  von  Klettenberg, 
together  with  much  theological  and  philosophical  read- 
ing, brought  Ptchgion  into  prominence  in  his  thoughts. 
He  has  given  a  sketch  of  the  sort  of  Neoplatouic 
Cliristiauity  into  which  his  thoughts  moulded  them- 
selves ;  but  as  this  sketch  was  written  so  very  many 
years  after  the  period  to  which  it  relates,  one  cannot 
well  accept  its  authenticity.  For  biographic  purposes 
it  is  enougli  to  indicate  that,  besides  these  Alchemic 
studies,  Eeligion  rose  also  into  serious  importance. 
Poetry  seemed  quite  to  have  deserted  him,  although 
he  still  occasionally  touched  up  his  two  plays.  In  a 
letter  he  humourously  exposes  the  worthlessness  of 
the  "  Bardenpoesie,"  then  in  fashion  among  versifiers, 
who  tried  to  be  patriotic  and  Tyrtteau  by  Imddhng 
together  golden  helmets,  flashing  swords,  the  tramp  of 
horses,  and  when  the  verse  went  lame  for  want  of  a 
syllable,  supplying  an  Oh  !  or  Ha  !  "  Make  me  feel," 
he  says,  "  what  I  have  not  yet  felt,  —  make  me  think 
what  I  have  not  yet  thought,  then  I  will  praise  you. 
But  shrieks  and  noise  will  never  supply  the  place  of 
pathos." 

Paoli,  the  Corsican  patriot,  passed  through  Frankfort 
at  this  time,  and  Goethe  saw  him  in  the  house  of 
Bethmann,  tbc  rich  merchant;  but,  with  this  excep- 
tion, Frankfort  presented  nothing  remarkable  to  him, 
and  he  was  impatient  to  escape  from  it.  His  health 
was  sufficiently  restored  for  his  father  to  hope  that 
now  jurisprudence  could  be  studied  with  some  suc- 
cess; and  Strasburg  was  the  university  selected  for 
that  purpose. 


CHAPTER   V. 

STRASBURG. 

He  reached  Strasburg  on  the  2d  April,  1770.  He 
was  just  turned  twenty,  and  a  more  magnificent  youth 
never,  perhaps,  entered  the  Strasburg  gates.  Long  be- 
fore celebrity  had  fixed  all  eyes  upon  him  he  was  likened 
to  an  Apollo ;  and  once,  when  he  entered  a  dining- 
room,  people  laid  down  their  knives  and  forks  to  stare 
at  the  beautiful  youth.  Pictures  and  busts,  even  when 
most  resembhng,  give  but  a  feeble  indication  of  that 
which  was  most  striking  in  his  appearance ;  they  give 
the  form  of  features,  but  not  the  play  of  features ; 
nor  are  they  very  accurate  as  to  the  form.  His  features 
were  large  and  hberally  cut,  as  in  the  fine  sweeping 
lines  of  Greek  art.  The  brow  was  lofty  and  massive, 
and  from  beneath  it  shone  large,  lustrous  brown  eyes 
of  marvellous  beauty,  their  pupils  being  of  almost  un- 
exampled size.  The  slightly  aquiline  nose  was  large, 
and  well  cut.  The  mouth  was  full,  with  a  short,  arched 
upper  lip,  very  sensitive  and  expressive.  The  chin  and 
jaw  boldly  proportioned ;  and  the  head  rested  on  a 
handsome,  and  muscular  neck. 

In  stature  he  was  rather  above  the  middle  size ;  but 
although  not  really  tall,  he  had  the  aspect  of  a  tall 
man,  and  is  usually  so  described,  because  his  presence 
was  very  imposing.^     His  frame  was  strong,  muscular, 

1  liauch,  the  sculptor,  who  made  the  well-known  .statuette  of 
Goethe,  explained  this  to  me  as  owing  to  his  large  bust  and  erect 
carriage. 

93 


94  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

yet  sensitive.    Dante  says  this  contrast  is  in  the  nature 
of  things,  for  — 

«<  Quanta  la  cosa  e  piii  perfetta, 
Piu  seuta  '1  bene,  e  cosl  la  doglienza." 

Excelling  in  all  active  sports,  he  was  almost  a  barome- 
ter in  sensitiveness  to  atmospheric  influences. 

Such,  externally,  was  the  youth  who  descended  at 
the  hotel  Ziim  Gcist,  in  Strasburg,  this  2d  April,  and 
who,  ridding  himself  of  the  dust  and  ennui  of  a  long 
imprisonment  in  the  dihgence,  sallied  forth  to  gaze  at 
the  famous  Cathedral,  which  made  a  wonderful  impres- 
sion on  him  as  he  came  up  to  it  through  the  narrow 
streets.  The  Strasburg  Cathedral  not  inaptly  serves  as 
the  symbol  of  his  early  German  tendencies;  and  its 
glorious  tower  is  always  connected,  in  my  mind,  with 
the  brief  but  ardent  endeavours  of  his  Hellenic  nature 
to  throw  itself  into  the  old  German  world.  German 
his  spirit  was  not,  but  we  shall  see  it,  under  the  shadow 
of  this  tower,  for  a  moment  inspired  with  true  German 
enthusiasm. 

His  lodgings  secured  —  No.  80,  on  the  south  side  of 
the  Fish-market  (now  called,  le  Quai  dc  Baielier)  —  he 
dt'livered  his  letters  of  introduction,  and  arranged  to 
dine  at  a  taJdr  d'hote  kept  by  two  maiden  ladies,  named 
I.auth,  in  the  Kriimergasse,  No.  13.  The  guests  here  were 
about  ten  in  number,  mostly  medical.  Their  president 
was  Doctor  Salzmann,  a  clean  old  bachelor  of  eight 
and  forty,  scrupuhius  in  his  stockings,  immaculate  as  to 
his  shoes  and  buckles,  with  hat  under  his  arm,  and 
scarcely  ever  on  his  head  —  a  neat,  dapper,  old  gentle- 
man, well  instructed,  and  greatly  liked  by  the  poet,  to 
whom  he  gave  excellent  advice,  and  for  whom  he  found 
a  vahiable  rcpetent}     Tn  spite  of  the  services  of   this 

'  The  modical  .•student  will  host.  luukTstand  what  a  rcpetent  is.  if 
the  wort!   be  translated  a  grinder  ;  the  university  student,  if  the 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  95 

excellent  repetent,  jurisprudence  wearied  liim  consider- 
ably, according  to  bis  account ;  at  first,  bowever,  be 
seems  to  bave  taken  to  it  witb  some  pleasure,  as  we 
learn  by  a  letter,  in  wbich  be  tells  Friiulein  von  Klet- 
tenberg  a  different  story:  —  "  Jurisprudence  begins  to 
please  me  very  mucb.  Tbus  it  is  witb  all  tbings  as 
with  Merseburg  beer ;  tbe  first  time  we  shudder  at  it, 
and  having  drunk  it  for  a  week,  we  cannot  do  without 
it."  The  study  of  jurisprudence,  at  any  rate,  did  not 
absorb  him.  Scholl  has  pubhshed  a  note-book  kept 
during  this  period,  which  reveals  an  astonishing  activity 
in  desultory  research.^  When  we  remember  that  tbe 
society  at  bis  table  d'hote  was  principally  of  medical 
students,  we  are  prepared  to  find  him  eagerly  throwing 
himself  into  tbe  study  of  anatomy  and  chemistry.  He 
attended  Lobstein's  lectures  on  Anatomy,  Ehrmann's 
clinical  lectures,  with  those  of  bis  son  on  midwifery, 
and  Spielmanu's  on  chemistry.  Electricity  occupied 
him,  Frankbn's  great  discovery  having  brought  that 
subject  into  prominence.  No  less  than  nine  works  on 
electricity  are  set  down  in  the  Note-book  to  be  studied. 
We  also  see  from  this  Note-book  that  chromatic  sub- 
jects begin  to  attract  him  —  the  future  antagonist  of 
Newton  was  preluding  in  the  science.  Alchemy  still 
fascinated  him  ;  and  he  wrote  to  Friiulein  von  Kletten- 
berg,  assuring  her  that  these  mystical  studies  were  bis 
secret  mistresses.  With  such  a  direction  of  his  thoughts, 
and  the  influence  of  this  pure,  pious  woman  still  operat- 
ing upon  him,  we  can  imagine  tbe  disgust  wliicb  fol- 
lowed his  study  of  the  "  Systeme  de  la  Nature,"  then 
making  so  great  a  noise  in  tbe  world.     This  dead  and 

word  be  translated  a  coach.  The  repeteut  prepares  students  by  an 
examination,  and  also  by  repeating;  and  explaining  in  private  what 
the  professor  has  taught  in  tlie  lecture  hall. 

i"Bricfe  und  Aufsatze  von  Goethe."  Herausgegeben  von 
Adolf  Schiill.  In  this,  as  in  his  other  valuable  work,  Scholl  is  not 
content  simply  to  reprint  papers  entrusted  to  him,  but  enriches 
them  by  his  own  careful,  accurate  editing. 


96  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

dull  exposition  of  an  atheism  as  superficial  as  it  was 
dull,  must  have  been  every  way  revolting  to  him :  irritat- 
ing to  his  piety,  and  unsatisfying  to  his  reason.  Vol- 
taire's wit  and  Kousseau's  sarcasms  he  could  copy  into 
his  note-book,  especially  when  they  pointed  in  the 
direction  of  tolerance ;  but  he  who  could  read  Bayle, 
Voltaire,  and  Eousseau  with  delight,  turned  from  the 
"  Systeme  de  la  Nature, "  with  scorn  ;  especially  at  a  time 
when  we  find  him  taking  the  sacrament,  and  trying  to 
keep  up  an  acquaintance  with  the  pious  families  to 
which  Friiulein  von  Klettenberg  had  introduced  him. 
I  say  trying,  because  even  his  good-will  could  not 
long  withstand  their  dulness  and  narrowness ;  he  was 
forced  to  give  them  up  and  confessed  so  nuich  to  his 
friend. 

Shortly  after  his  arrival  in  Strasburg,  namely,  in 
May,  1770,  an  event  occurred  wliich  agitated  the  town, 
and  gave  him  an  opportunity  of  seeing,  for  the  first 
time,  Raphael's  cartoons.  Marie  Antoinette,  about  to 
become  the  Dauphiness  of  France,  was  to  pass  through 
on  her  way  to  Paris.  On  a  small  island  on  the  Rhine 
a  l)uilding  was  erected  for  her  reception ;  and  this  was 
adorned  with  tapestries  worked  after  the  cartoons. 
These  tapestries  roused  his  enthusiasm ;  but  he  was 
shocked  to  find  that  they  were  placed  in  the  side  cham- 
bers, while  the  chief  salon  was  hung  with  tapestries 
worked  after  pictures  by  modern  French  artists.  That 
Raphael  should  thus  be  thrown  into  a  subordinate 
position  was  less  exasperating  to  him  than  the  subjects 
chosen  from  the  modern  artists.  "  These  pictures  were 
the  history  of  Jason,  Medea,  and  Creusa  —  consequently, 
a  story  of  a  most  wretched  marriage.  To  the  left  of  the 
throne  was  seen  tlie  bride  struggling  against  a  horrible 
death,  surrounded  by  persons  full  of  sympathetic  grief  ; 
to  the  right  stood  the  father,  horror-struck  at  the  mur- 
dored  babes  at  his  feet ;  whilst  the  fury,  in  her  dragon 
car,  drove  tlirough  the  air." 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  97 

All  the  ideas  which  he  had  learned  from  Oeser  were 
outraged  by  this  selection.  He  did  not  quarrel  so  much 
with  the  arrangement  which  placed  Christ  and  the 
Apostles  in  side  chambers,  since  he  had  thereby  been 
enabled  to  enjoy  the  sight  of  them.  "  But  a  blunder 
like  that  of  the  grand  saloon  put  me  altogether  out  of 
my  self-possession,  and  with  loud  and  vehement  cries  I 
called  to  my  comrades  to  witness  the  insult  against 
feeling  and  taste.  '  Wliat ! '  I  exclaimed,  regardless  of 
bystanders,  '  can  they  so  thoughtlessly  place  before  the 
eyes  of  a  young  queen,  on  her  first  setting  foot  m  her 
dominions,  the  representation  of  the  most  horrible  mar- 
riage perhaps  that  ever  was  consummated !  Is  there 
among  the  architects  and  decorators  no  one  man  who 
understands  that  pictures  represent  something  —  that 
they  work  upon  the  mind  and  feelings  —  that  they 
produce  impressions  and  excite  forebodings  ?  It  is  as  if 
they  had  sent  a  ghastly  spectre  to  meet  this  lovely,  and 
and  as  we  hear  most  joyous,  lady  at  the  very  frontiers  ! ' " 
To  him,  indeed,  pictures  meant  something ;  they  were 
reahties  to  him,  because  he  had  the  true  artistic  nature. 
But  to  the  French  architects,  as  to  the  Strasburg  offi- 
cials, pictures  were  pictures  —  ornaments  betokening 
more  or  less  luxury  and  taste,  flattering  the  eye,  but 
never  touching  the  soul. 

Goethe  was  right ;  and  omen-lovers  afterward  read 
in  that  picture  the  dark  foreshadowing  of  her  destiny. 
But  no  one  then  could  have  foreseen  that  her  future 
career  would  be  less  triumphant  than  her  journey  from 
Vienna  to  Paris.  That  smiling,  happy,  lovely  princess 
of  fifteen,  whose  grace  and  beauty  extort  expressions  of 
admiration  from  every  beliolder,  as  she  wends  her  way 
along  roads  lined  \vith  the  jubilant  peasantry  leaving 
their  fields  to  gaze  upon  her,  through  streets  strewn 
with  nosegays,  through  triumphal  arches,  and  rows  of 
maidens  garlanded,  awaiting  her  arrival  to  offer  her 
spring-flowers  as  symbols — can  her  joy  be  for  a  mo- 


98  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

ment  dashed  by  a  pictured  sorrow  ?  Can  omens  have 
a  dark  significance  to  her  ? 

"  I  still  vividly  remember,"  says  Goethe,  "  the  beau- 
teous aud  lofty  mien,  as  charming  as  it  was  dignified,  of 
the  young  princess.  Plainly  visible  in  her  carriage, 
she  seemed  to  be  jestiug  with  her  female  attendants 
respecting  the  throng  which  poured  forth  to  meet  her 
train."  Scarcely  had  the  news  of  her  happy  arrival  in 
the  capital  reached  them,  than  it  was  followed  by  the 
intelligence  of  the  accident  which  had  disturbed  the 
festivities  of  her  marriage.  Goethe's  thoughts  naturally 
recurred  to  the  ominous  pictures :  a  nature  less  super- 
stitious would  not  have  been  entirely  unmoved  by  such 
a  coincidence. 

"  The  excitement  over,  the  Strasburgers  fell  into 
their  accustomed  tranquillity.  The  mighty  stream  of 
courtly  magnificence  had  now  flowed  by,  and  left  me  no 
other  longing  than  that  for  the  tapestries  of  Raphael, 
which  I  could  have  contemplated  and  worshipped  every 
hour.  Luckily  my  earnest  desires  succeeded  in  inter- 
esting several  persons  of  consequence,  so  that  the  tap- 
estries were  not  taken  down  till  the  very  last  moment." 

The  reestablished  quiet  left  him  time  for  studies 
again.  In  a  letter  of  this  date  he  intimates  that  he  is 
"  so  improved  in  knowledge  of  Greek  as  almost  to  read 
Homier  without  a  translation.  I  am  a  week  older  ;  that 
you  know  says  a  great  deal  with  me,  not  because  I  do 
much,  but  many  things."  Among  these  many  things, 
we  nnist  note  his  ardent  search  through  mystical  meta- 
physical writings  for  the  material  on  which  his  insatia- 
ble appetite  could  feed.  Strange  revelations  in  this 
direction  are  afTorded  by  his  Note-book.  On  one  page 
there  is  a  passage  from  Thomas  a  Kempis,  followed  by 
a  list  of  mystical  works  to  be  read ;  on  another  page, 
sarcastic  sentences  from  Eousseau  and  Voltaire  ;  on  a 
third,  a  n^fcrence  to  Tauler.  The  book  contains  an 
analysis  of  the  "  rha-don  "  of  Moses  Mendelssohn,  con- 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  99 

trasted  with  that  of  Plato ;  and  a  defence  of  Giordano 
Bruno  against  the  criticism  of  Bayle. 

Apropos  of  Bruno,  one  may  remark  the  early  ten- 
dency of  Goethe's  mind  toward  Nature-worship.  Taci- 
tus, indeed,  noticed  the  tendency  as  national.^  The 
scene  in  Frankfort,  where  the  boy-priest  erected  his 
Pantheistic  altar,  will  help  to  explain  the  interest  he 
must  have  felt  in  the  glimpse  Bayle  gave  him  of  the 
great  Pantheist  of  the  sixteenth  century  —  the  brilliant 
and  luckless  Bruno,  who  after  teaching  the  heresy  of 
Copernicus  at  Pome  and  Oxford,  after  combating 
Aristotle  and  gaining  the  friendship  of  Sir  Philip  Sid- 
ney, was  publicly  burnt  on  the  17th  February,  1600, 
in  the  presence  of  the  Roman  crowd :  expiating  thus 
the  crime  of  teaching  that  the  earth  moved,  the  Church 
ha\-ing  declared  it  to  be  stable.  A  twofold  interest 
attached  itself  to  the  name  of  Bruno.  He  was  a 
martyr  of  Philosophy,  and  his  works  were  rare  ;  every 
one  abused  him,  few  had  read  him.  He  was  almost 
as  much  hated  as  Spinoza,  and  scarcely  any  one  knew 
the  writings  they  reviled.  The  rarity  of  Bruno's 
works  made  them  objects  of  bibliopolic  luxury ;  some 
were  among  the  black  swans  of  literature.  The  "  Spac- 
cio  "  had  been  sold  for  thirty  pounds  in  England,  and 
three  hundred  florins  in  Holland.  Hamann,  whom 
Herder  and  Goethe  ardently  admired,  searched  Italy 
and  Germany  for  the  "De  la  Causa"  and  "Del  In- 
finito "  in  vain.  Forbidden  fruit  is  tempting ;  but 
when  the  fruit  is  rare,  as  well  as  forbidden,  the  attrac- 
tion is  irresistible.2    Pantheism,  which  captivates  poeti- 

1  What  Tacitus  there  represents  as  a  more  exalted  creed  than 
anthropomorphism,  was  really  a  lower  form  of  religious  concep- 
tion —  the  Fetichism,  which  in  primitive  races  precedes  Poly- 
theism. 

2  Since  then  the  works  have  been  made  accessible  through  the 
cheap  and  excellent  odition  collected  by  A.  Wagner:  "Opere  di 
Giordano  Bruno  Nolano."  2  vols.  Leipsic  :  1830.  But  I  do  not 
observe  that,  now  they  are  accessible,  many  persons  interest 
themselves  enough  in  Bruno  to  read  them. 


lOO  LIFE   AND  WORKS  OF   GOETHE 

cal  minds,  has  a  poetical  grandeur  in  the  form  given 
to  it  by  Bruno  which  would  have  allured  Goethe  had 
his  tendencies  not  already  lain  in  that  direction.  To 
preach  that  doctrine  Bruno  became  a  homeless  wan- 
derer, and  his  wanderings  ended  in  martyrdom.  Noth- 
ing could  shake  his  faith  ;  as  he  loftily  says,  "  con 
questa  filosofia  I'anima  mi  s'aggrandisce  e  mi  si  magni- 
fica  I'intelletto." 

Goethe's  notes  on  Bayle's  criticism  may  be  given 
here,  as  illustrating  his  metaphysical  opinions  and  his 
mastery  of  French  composition.  We  can  be  certain 
of  the  authenticity  of  the  French :  in  spite  of  inaccu- 
racies and  inelegancies,  it  is  fluent  and  expressive,  and 
trives  one  the  idea  of  greater  conversational  command 
of  the  language  than  he  reports  of  himself. 

"  Je  ne  suis  pas  du  sentiment  de  M.  Bayle  a  I'^gard 
de  Jor.  Brunus,  et  je  ne  trouve  ni  d'impi^t^  ni  d'ab- 
surditd  dans  les  passages  qu'il  cite,  quoique  d'ailleurs 
je  ne  pr^tende  pas  d'excuser  cet  horn  me  paradoxe. 
'  L'uno,  I'infinito,  lo  ente  e  quelle  ch'  e  in  tutto,  e  per 
tutto  anzi  e  Vistezzo  ubique.  E  che  cosse  la  iutinita 
dimenzione  per  uou  essere  magnitudine  coincide  coll' 
individuo,  come  la  iufinita  moltitudine  per  nou  esser 
luimero  coincide  coll'  unita.'  Giord.  Brun.  Epist.  Dcd. 
del  Trntt.  de  la  Causa  Principio  et  Uno} 

"  Ce  passage  mdriteroit  une  explication  et  une  re- 
cherche plus  philosophiques  que  le  disc,  de  M.  Bayle. 
II  est  plus  facile  de  prononcer  uu  passage  obscur  et 
contraire  a  nos  notions  que  de  le  d^chiffrer,  et  que  de 
•suivre  les  idees  d'un  gi-and  homme.  II  est  de  meme 
du  passage  nu  il  plaisante  sur  une  idee  de  Brunus,  c^ue 
je  n'applaudis  pas  entierement,  si  peu  que  les  pr^c^- 

>"ThoOat.,  ilio  Infinite,  the  Bcinsi,  and  that  vvliicli  is  in  all 
thini^  is  everywhere  the  same.  Tims  infinite  extension  not  being 
inai;ni(iuln  coincides  with  the  Individ nal,  as  infinite  mnltitude 
bccauso  it  is  not  nnmber  coincides  witii  unity."  The  words  in 
ilnlica  are  piven  a,s  in  (Joethe  —  carelessly  copied  for  Vistesso  and 
co^!      s...  nruMo,  "Opere,"  1,  p.  211,  ed.  Wagner. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  loi 

dentes,  mais  que  je  crois  du  moins  profondes  et  peut- 
etre  fecondes  pour  un  observateur  judicieux.  Notez, 
je  vous  prie,  de  B.  uue  absurdity  :  il  dit  que  ce  n'est 
point  I'etre  qui  fait  qu'il  y  a  beaucoup  de  choses,  mais 
que  cette  multitude  consiste  daus  ce  qui  paroit  sur  la 
superfice  de  la  substance." 

In  the  same  Note-book  there  is  a  remarkable  com- 
ment on  a  chapter  in  Fabricius  ("  Bibliog.  Antiq.") 
which  Goethe  has  written  in  Latin,  and  which  may  be 
thus  rendered :  "  To  discuss  God  apart  from  Nature  is 
both  difficult  and  perilous ;  it  is  as  if  we  separated  the 
soul  from  the  body.  We  know  the  soul  only  through 
the  medium  of  the  body,  and  God  only  through 
Nature.  Hence  the  absurdity,  as  it  appears  to  me,  of 
accusing  those  of  absurdity  who  philosophically  have 
united  God  with  the  world.  For  everything  which 
exists  necessarily  pertains  to  the  essence  of  God,  be- 
cause God  is  the  one  Being  whose  existence  includes 
all  things.  Nor  does  the  Holy  Scripture  contradict 
this,  although  we  differently  interpret  its  dogmas  each 
according  to  his  views.  All  antiquity  thought  in  the 
same  way ;  an  unanimity  which  to  me  has  great  sig- 
nificance. To  me  the  judgment  of  so  many  men  speaks 
highly  for  the  rationality  of  the  doctrine  of  emanation  ; 
though  I  am  of  no  sect,  and  grieve  much  that  Spinoza 
should  have  coupled  tliis  pure  doctrine  with  his  de- 
testable errors."  ^     This  reference  to  Spinoza,  whom  he 

1 1  subjoin  the  original,  as  the  reader  may  not  be  displeased  to 
see  a  specimen  of  Goethe's  Latin  composition  :  8eparatim  de  Deo, 
et  natura  rerum  disserere  difficile  et  pericolosum  est,  eodem  modo 
quam  si  de  corpore  et  aniiua  sejunctim  cogitamus.  Animam 
uonuisi  mediante  corpore,  Deum  nonnisi  perspecta  natura  cog- 
noscimus  ;  hinc  absurdum  mihi  videtur,  eos  absm-ditatis  accusare, 
qui  ratiocinatione  maxime  philosophica  Deinn  cum  mundo  con- 
junxere.  Qua)  enim  sunt  omnia  ad  essentiam  Dei  pertinere 
necesse  est,  cum  Dcus  sit  unicum  existens  et  omnia  comprehen- 
dat.  Nee  Sacer  Codex  nostrse  sententiiB  refragatur,  cujus  tamen 
dicta  ab  unoquoque  in  sententiam  suam  torqueri  patienter  ferinius. 
Omnis  antiquitatis  ejusdem  fuit  scntcntia),  cui  consensu!  quam 
multum   tribuo.     Testimonio  enim  mihi  est  virorum   tantonmi 


I02  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

subsequently  reverenced  as  one  of  his  best  teachers,  is 
easily  explicable  when  we  reflect  that  he  then  knew 
no  more  of  Spinoza  than  could  be  gathered  from 
Bayle. 

Time  was  not  all  consumed  by  these  studies,  multi- 
farious as  they  were.  Lively  Strasburg  had  its  anmse- 
ments,  and  Goethe  joined  his  friend  Salzmann  in  many 
a  pleasant  party.  The  various  pleasure-gi'ounds  and 
public  gardens  were  always  crowded  with  promenaders, 
and  there  the  mixture  of  the  old  national  costume  with 
modern  fashions  gave  charming  variety  to  the  scene, 
and  made  the  pretty  women  still  more  attractive. 

He  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  two  sharply 
defined  nationalities.  Alsatia,  and  especially  Stras- 
burg, although  belonging  to  France,  still  preserved  its 
old  German  character.  Eight  hundred  years  of  national 
life  were  not  to  be  set  aside  at  once,  when  it  pleased 
the  powers,  at  the  peace  of  Westphaha,  to  say  that 
Alsatia  should  be  French.  Until  the  middle  of  the 
eighteenth  century  the  old  German  speech,  costume, 
and  manners  were  so  dominant,  that  a  Frankforter,  or 
a  Mainzer,  found  himself  at  once  at  home  there.  But 
just  l)efore  tlie  outbreak  of  the  French  Revolution  the 
gradual  influx  of  officials  brought  about  a  sort  of 
fashion  m  French  costume.  Milliners,  friseurs,  and 
dancing  masters  had  done  their  best,  or  their  worst,  to 
"  ])olish  "  society.  But  the  surface  was  rough,  and  did 
not  take  kindly  to  this  polishing.  Side  l)y  side  with 
the  French  cmployS  there  was  the  old  German  pro- 
fessor, who  obstinately  declined  to  acquire  more  of  the 
foreigners'  language  than  sufficed  for  daily  needs  and 
houHL'liold  matters ;  for  the  rest  he  kept  sturdily  Teu- 
tonic;.    P>L'n    in    costume   the  imitation    was   mainly 

Hentciitia  rcctic  rationi  quain  convcnientissimum  fuisse  systenia 
emaiialivum,  licet  luiUi  subscribere  velim  sectte,  valdeque  iloleam 
Spiuozisnmni,  tetcrrimis  prrnribus  ex  eodem  fonte  inanantibus, 
doctrinro  huic  purissiinie  iniquissiinum  fratrem  natum  esse. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  103 

confined  to  the  upper  classes.^  Goethe  describes  the 
maidens  of  the  bourgeoisie  still  wearing  their  hair  in 
one  long  plait,  falling  behind,  and  with  petticoats  of 
picturesque  but  perilous  brevity. 

Salzmann  introduced  him  to  several  families,  and 
thus  more  than  by  all  his  advice  helped  to  soften  down 
the  exuberant  expression  of  animal  spirits  which  very 
often  sinned  against  quiet  conventionalities ;  for  by 
inducing  him  to  frequent  society,  it  forced  him  to  learn 
that  demeanour  which  society  imperatively  demands. 
In  "  Wilhelm  Meister  "  great  stress  is  laid  upon  the 
culture  necessary  to  tit  a  man  of  genius  for  society ; 
and  one  of  the  great  motives  advanced  for  the  pursu- 
ance of  a  theatrical  career  is  the  facility  it  affords  a 
man  of  gaining  address. 

An  excitable,  impetuous  youth,  ambitious  of  shining 
in  society,  yet  painfully  conscious  of  the  unsuitableness 
of  his  previous  training  for  the  attainment  of  that  quiet- 
ness deemed  so  necessary,  would  require  to  attend  to 
every  trifle  which  might  affect  his  deportment.  Thus, 
although  he  had  magnificent  hair,  he  allowed  the  hair- 
dresser to  tie  it  up  in  a  bag,  and  affix  a  false  queue. 
This  obhged  him  to  remain  propped  up  powdered,  from 
an  early  hour  of  the  morning,  and  also  to  keep  from 
overheating  himself  and  from  violent  gestures,  lest  he 
should  betray  the  false  ornament.  "  Tliis  restraint  con- 
tributed much  toward  making  me  for  a  time  more 
gentle  and  polite  in  my  bearing ;  and  I  got  accustomed 
to  shoes  and  stockings,  and  to  carrying  my  hat  under 
my  arm  ;  I  did  not,  however,  neglect  wearing  fine  under- 
stockings  as  a  protection  against  the  Ehine  gnats."  To 
these  qualifications  as  a  cavaher,  he  added  those  of  an 
excellent  swordsman  and  rider.  With  his  fellow  students 
he  had  abundant  exercise  in  the  use  of  the  rapier  ;  and 
prompted,  I  presume,  by  his  restless  desire  to  do  all 
that  his  friends  did,  he  began  to  learn  the  violoncello ! 
^Stoeber  :  "  Der  Aktuar  Salzmann,"  1855,  p.  7. 


104  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

His  circle  of  frieuds  widened ;  and  even  that  of  his 
fellow  boarders  in  the  Kramergasse  increased.  Among 
the  latter,  two  deserve  special  mention  —  Jung  Stilling 
and  Franz  Lerse.  Stilhng  has  preserved  an  account  of 
their  first  meeting.^  About  twenty  were  assembled  at 
dinner,  when  a  young  man  entered  the  room  in  high 
spirits,  whose  large,  clear  eyes,  splendid  brow,  and 
beautifully  proportioned  figure,  irresistibly  drew  the 
attention  of  Troost  and  Stilling.  The  former  remarked, 
"  That  must  be  an  extraordinary  man ! "  Stilling 
assented  ;  but  feared  lest  they  might  be  somewhat 
annoyed  by  him,  he  looked  such  a  wild,  rollicking 
fellow.  Meanwhile  they  learned  that  this  student, 
whose  unconstrained  freedom  and  aplomb  made  them 
draw  under  their  shells,  was  named  Herr  Goethe. 
Dinner  proceeded.  Goethe,  who  sat  opposite  Stilhng, 
had  completely  the  lead  in  conversation,  without  once 
seeking  it.  At  length  one  of  the  company  began  quiz- 
zing the  wig  of  poor  Stilling,  and  the  fun  was  relished  by 
all  except  Troost,  Salzmann,  and  one  who,  indignantly 
reproving  them  for  making  game  of  so  inoffensive  a 
person,  silenced  the  ridicule  immediately ;  this  was 
none  other  than  the  large-eyed  student  whose  appear- 
ance had  excited  Stilling's  uneasiness.  The  friendship 
thus  begun  was  continued  by  the  sympathy  and  tender 
affectionateness  Goethe  always  displayed  toward  the 
simple,  earnest,  and  unfriended  thinker,  whose  deep 
religious  convictions,  and  trusting,  childlike  nature, 
singularly  interested  him.  Goethe  was  never  tired  of 
listening  to  the  story  of  his  life.  Instinctively  he  sought 
on  all  sides  to  penetrate  the  mysteries  of  humanity,  and, 
liy  probing  every  man's  experience,  to  make  it  his  own. 
H(;re  was  a  poor  charcoal-burner,  who  from  tailoring 
had  passed  to  keeping  a  school ;  that  failing,  he  had 
resumed  liis  needle ;  and  having  joined  a  religious  sect, 
had,  in  silent  communion  with  his  own  soul,  gained  for 
» Stilling's  "  Wandcrschaft,"  p.  158. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  105 

himself  a  sort  of  culture  which  raised  him  above  the 
ordinary  height  of  men  ;  — what  was  there  in  his  life  or 
opinions  to  captivate  the  riotous,  skeptical,  prosperous 
student  ?  There  was  earnestness  —  there  was  genuine- 
ness. Goethe  was  eminently  qualified  to  become  the 
friend  of  one  who  held  opposite  convictions  to  his  own, 
for  his  tolerance  was  large  and  genuine,  and  he  re- 
spected every  real  conviction.  Sympathising  with 
Stilling,  listening  to  him,  and  dexterously  avoiding  any 
interference  with  his  religious  faith,  he  was  not  only 
enabled  to  be  his  friend,  but  also  to  learn  quietly  and 
surely  the  inner  nature  of  such  men. 

Franz  Lerse  attracted  him  by  different '  qualities ; 
upright  manliness,  scrupulous  orderliness,  dry  humour, 
and  a  talent  for  reconciling  antagonists.  As  a  memo- 
rial of  their  friendship  his  name  is  given  to  the  gallant 
fellow  in  "  Gotz  von  Berlichingen,"  who  knows  how 
to  subordinate  himself  with  dignity. 

Salzmann  had  some  years  before  founded  a  sort  of 
club,  or,  as  Stilling  calls  it,  Gesellschaft  der  scJionen 
Wissenschaften,  the  object  of  which  was  to  join  a  book 
society  with  a  debating  club.  In  1763-64  this  club 
had  among  its  members  no  less  a  person  than  0.  F. 
Miiller,  the  renowned  helminthologist ;  and  now  in 
1770-71  it  numbered,  among  others,  Goethe,  Lerse, 
Jung  Stilling,  Leuz,  Weyland,  and,  as  a  guest,  was 
honoured  by  the  presence  of  Herder,  who  was  then 
writing  his  w^ork  on  the  "  Origin  of  Language." 

Generally  speaking,  Goethe  is  so  liberal  in  informa- 
tion about  his  friends  and  contemporaries,  and  so  sparing 
of  precise  indications  of  his  own  condition,  that  we  are 
left  in  the  dark  respecting  much  that  would  be  wel- 
come knowledge.  There  is  one  thing  mentioned  by 
him  which  is  very  significant ;  although  his  health  was 
sufficiently  established  for  ordinary  purposes,  he  still 
suffered  from  great  irritability.  Loud  sounds  were  dis- 
agreeable  to    him ;  diseased   objects  aroused   loathing 


io6  LIFE  AND  WORKS   OF  GOETHE 

aiul  horror.     And  he  was  especially  troubled  with  gid- 
diness, which  came  over  him  whenever  he  looked  down 
from  a  height.     All   these  infirmities   he  resolved  to 
couquer,  aud  that  somewhat  violently.     In  the  evening 
when  they  beat  the  tattoo,  he  went  close  to  the  drums, 
though  the  powerful  rolling  and    beating  of  so   many 
seem'ed  enough  to  make  his  heart  burst  m  his  bosom. 
Alone  he  ascended  the  highest  pinnacle  of    the  cathe- 
dral, and  sat  in  what  is  called   the    neck,  under  the 
crovvn,  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  venturing  to  step 
out  again  into  the  open  air.      Standing  on  a  platform, 
scarcely  an  ell  square,  he  saw  before  him  a  boundless 
prospect,  the  church  and  the  supports  of  his  standing 
place  being  concealed  by  the  ornaments.     He  felt  ex- 
actly as  if  carried  up  in  a  balloon.     These  painful  sen- 
sations he  repeated  until  they  became  quite  indifferent ; 
he  subsequently  derived  great  advantage  from  this  con- 
quest, in  mountain  excursions  and  geological  studies. 
Anatomy  was  also  of  double  value,  as  it  taught  him  to 
tolerate  the  most  repulsive  sights  whilst  satisfying  his 
thirst  for  knowledge.      He  succeeded  so  well,  that  no 
hideous  sight  could  disturb  his  self-possession.     He  also 
sought  to  steel  himself  against  the  terrors  of  imagina- 
tion.   Thii  awful  and  shuddering  impressions  of  darkness 
in  churchyards,  solitary  places,  churches  and  chapels  by 
night,  he  contrived  to  render  indifferent  —  so  much  so, 
that  when  a  desire  came  over  him  to  recall  in  such 
scenes  the  pleasing  shudder  of  youth,  he  could  scarcely 
succeed  even  by  the  strangest  and  most  terrific  images. 
Two  love  poems,  written  during  this  year  —  "  Stirbb 
der    P'uchs  so    gilt    der    P>alg "  and   "  Blinde   Kuh "  — 
put  us  on  the  scent  of  fiirtations.     He  is  silent  respect- 
ing  Dorilia  and  Theresa  in  his  Autobiograpliy ;  and  in 
ordinary  cases  a  biographer  would  accept  tliat  silence 
without  drawing  any  conclusion  frnm  the  poems.     No 
QUO  hereafter  will   think  of  identifying  the  Olaribels, 
Isabels,  and  Madelines,  with   young  ladies   whom  our 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  107 

poets  met  in  society,  and  who  led  captive  their  incon- 
stant hearts.  With  Goethe  it  is  otherwise.  All  his 
poems  grow  out  of  occasions  ;  they  are  flowers  of  which 
circumstance  is  the  earth.  Utterances  of  real  feelings 
to  real  beings,  they  are  unlike  all  coquettings  with 
imaginary  beauties.  His  poems  are  evidences.^  Un- 
happily, the  bare  fact  in  this  instance  is  all  we  can 
discover. 

One  flirtation,  however,  was  not  so  easily  effaced. 
His  strange  didactic  father  had  instructed  him  and  his 
sister  in  dancing,  a  task  which  seems  rather  ludicrous 
as  we  picture  to  ourselves  the  cold,  formal,  rigoroua 
old  Frankforter.  He  was  perfectly  unconscious  of  any 
incongruity.  With  the  utmost  gravity  he  drilled  them 
into  a  minuet,  playing  to  them  on  the  flageolet. 
Goethe's  dancing  had  been  for  some  time  neglected, 
and  when  he  stood  up  to  a  minuet  once  at  Leipsic,  ho 
got  through  it  so  awkwardly  as  to  draw  upon  himself 
the  suspicion  of  having  done  so  to  prevent  being  in- 
vited again. 

A  handsome  youth  unable  to  dance  was  an  anomaly 
in  Strasburg.  Not  a  Sunday  evening  passed  without 
the  pleasure-gardens  being  crowded  with  gay  dancers ; 
galas  frequently  enhvened  the  week;  and  the  merry 
Alsatians  seldom  met  but  they  commenced  spinning 
round  in  the  waltz.  Into  these  gardens,  amidst  these 
waltzers,  Goethe  constantly  went  —  yet  could  not 
waltz.  He  resolved  at  length  to  learn.  A  friend 
recommended  him  to  a  dancing-master  of  repute,  who 
soon  pronounced  liimself  gTatified  with  the  progress 
made. 

This  master,  a  dry,  precise,  but  amiable  Frenchman, 
had  two  daughters,  who  assisted  him  at  his  lessons, 

1  I  tind  Viehoff  insisting  on  a  similar  clue  ;  be  supposes  Dorilis 
and  Theresa  (probably  one  and  the  same  person)  to  be  real  per- 
sons, and  that  Goethe  knew  them  through  Salzmann.  Mr.  Demm- 
ler  argues  with  some  force  that  Dorilis  can  be  none  other  than 
Frederika — of  whom  more  auou. 


io8  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

acting  both  as  partners  and  correctors.  Two  pretty 
girls,  both  under  twenty,  charming  with  Trench  vivac- 
ity and  coquetry,  could  not  fail  to  interest  the  young 
poet ;  nor  could  the  graceful,  handsome  youth  fail  to 
create  an  impression  on  two  girls  whose  lives  were 
somewhat  lonesome.  Symptoms  of  this  interest  very 
soon  showed  themselves.  The  misfortune  was  that  the 
state  of  their  feelings  made  what  dramatists  call  "  a 
situation."  Goethe's  heart  inclined  toward  Emilia, 
who  loved  another ;  while  that  of  Lucinda,  the  eldest 
sister,  was  bestowed  upon  him.  Emilia  was  afraid  to 
trust  herself  too  much  with  him  ;  but  Lucinda  was 
always  at  hand,  ready  to  waltz  with  him,  to  protract 
his  lesson,  or  to  show  him  httle  attentions.  There 
were  not  many  pupils ;  so  that  he  often  remained  after 
his  lesson  to  chat  away  the  time,  or  to  read  aloud  to 
them  a  romance  :  dangerous  moments  ! 

He  saw  how  things  stood,  yet  puzzled  himself  about 
the  reserve  of  the  younger  sister.  The  cause  of  it 
came  out  at  last.  One  evening,  after  the  dance  was 
over,  Lucinda  detained  him  in  the  dancing-room,  tell- 
ing him  that  her  sister  was  in  the  sitting-room  with  a 
fortune-teller,  who  was  disclosing  the  condition  of  a 
lover  to  whom  the  girl's  heart  was  given.  "  Mine," 
said  Lucinda,  "  is  free,  and  I  must  get  used  to  its  being 
shghted." 

He  tried  to  parry  this  thrust  by  divers  little  compli- 
ments ;  and,  indiscreetly  enough,  advised  her  to  try  her 
own  fate  with  the  fortune-teller,  offering  to  do  the 
same  himself.  Lucinda  did  not  like  that  tampering 
witli  fate,  declaring  that  the  disclosures  of  the  oracle 
were  too  true  to  be  made  a  matter  of  sport.  Probably 
this  pifpied  him  into  a  little  more  earnestness  than  he 
had  shown,  for  ultimately  he  persuaded  her  to  go  into 
the  sitting-room  with  liiin.  They  found  Emilia  much 
pleased  witli  the  information  that  she  had  received 
from  the  pythoness,  who  was  highly  flattered  at  the 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  109 

new  devotee  to  her  shrine.  A  handsome  reward  was 
promised  her  if  she  should  disclose  the  truth.  With 
the  customary  ceremonial  she  began  to  tell  the  fortune 
of  the  elder  sister.  She  hesitated.  "  Oh,  I  see,"  said 
Emilia,  "  that  you  have  something  unpleasant  to  tell." 
Lucinda  turned  pale,  but  said,  "  Speak  out ;  it  will  not 
cost  me  my  hfe."  The  fortune-teller  heaved  a  deep 
sigh,  and  proceeded  with  her  disclosures.  Lucinda, 
she  said,  was  in  love,  but  her  love  was  not  returned ; 
another  person  standing  in  the  way.  And  she  went 
on  with  more  in  the  same  style.  It  is  not  dithcult  to 
imagine  that  the  sybil  should  readily  enough  interpret 
this  httle  drama  which  w^as  then  acting  by  the  youth 
and  two  girls  before  her  eyes.  Lucinda  showed  evi- 
dence of  distress ;  and  the  old  woman  endeavoured  to 
give  a  better  turn  to  the  affair  by  throwing  out  hopes 
of  letters  and  money.  "  Letters,"  said  Lucinda,  "  I  do 
not  expect ;  and  money  I  do  not  want.  If  I  love  as 
you  say,  I  have  a  right  to  be  loved  in  return."  The 
fortune-teller  shuffled  the  cards  again;  but  that  only 
made  matters  worse;  the  girl  now  appeared  in  the 
oracular  vision  in  greater  trouble,  her  lover  at  a  greater 
distance.  A  third  shuffle  of  the  cards  was  still  worse ; 
Lucinda  burst  into  a  passionate  flood  of  tears,  and 
rushed  from  the  room.  "  Follow  her,"  said  Emilia, 
"  and  comfort  her."  But  he  hesitated,  not  seeing  what 
comfort  he  could  well  give,  as  he  could  not  assure  her 
of  some  return  for  her  affection.  "  Let  us  go  together  " 
he  replied.  Emilia  doubted  whether  her  presence 
would  do  good ;  but  she  consented.  Lucinda  had 
locked  herself  in ;  and  paying  the  old  woman  for  her 
work,  Goethe  left  the  house. 

He  had  scarcely  courage  to  revisit  the  sisters;  but 
on  the  third  day  Emilia  sent  for  him,  and  he  received 
his  lesson  as  usual.  Lucinda,  however,  was  absent; 
and  when  he  asked  for  her,  Emiha  told  him  that  she 
was  in  bed,  declaring  that  she  should  die.     She  had 


no  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

thrown  out  great  reproaches  against  him  for  his  un- 
grateful behaviour.  "And  yet  I  do  not  know,"  said 
he,  "  that  I  am  guilty  of  having  expressed  any  sort  of 
affection  for  her.  I  know  somebody  who  can  bear  me 
witness  of  tliat."  Emilia  smiled.  "  I  comprehend," 
she  said ;  "  but  if  we  are  not  careful  we  shall  all  find 
ourselves  in  a  disastrous  position.  Forgive  me  if  I  say 
that  you  nuist  not  go  on  with  your  lessons.  My 
father  says  that  he  is  ashamed  to  take  your  money 
any  longer,  unless  you  mean  to  pursue  the  art  of  danc- 
ing ;  since  you  know  already  what  is  needed  by  a 
young  man  in  the  world."  "  Do  you  tell  me  to  avoid 
the  house,  Emilia  ? "  he  asked.  "  Yes,"  she  said ;  "  but 
not  on  my  own  account.  When  you  had  gone  the 
otlier  day,  I  had  the  cards  cut  for  you ;  and  the  same 
answer  was  given  thrice.  You  were  surrounded  by 
friends,  and  all  sorts  of  good  fortune ;  but  the  ladies 
kept  aloof  from  you ;  my  poor  sister  stood  farthest  of 
all.  One  otlier  constantly  came  near  to  you ;  but 
never  close ;  for  a  third  person,  a  man,  always  came 
between.  I  will  confess  that  I  thought  I  was  myself 
this  second  lady ;  and  now  you  will  understand  my 
advice.  I  have  promised  myself  to  another,  and  until 
now  I  loved  him  more  than  any  one.  Yet  your  pres- 
ence miglit  become  more  dangerous  to  me  than  it  has 
been ;  and  then  what  a  position  would  be  yours  be- 
tween two  sisters,  one  of  whom  you  would  have  made 
miserable  by  your  affection,  and  the  other  by  your 
coldness."  She  held  out  her  hand  and  bade  him  fare- 
well;  .she  then  led  him  to  the  door;  and  in  token  that 
it  was  to  be  tlieir  last  meeting,  she  threw  herself  upon 
his  bosom  and  kissed  him  tenderly.  Just  as  he  had 
put  his  arms  round  her,  a  side  door  flew  open,  and  her 
sister,  in  a  light  but  decorous  dressing-gown,  rushed  in, 
crying, "  You  shall  not  be  the  only  one  to  take  leave  of 
him!"  Emilia  released  him.  Lucinda  took  him  in 
}itT  arms,  pressed  her  black  locks  against  his  cheeks; 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  iii 

remained  thus  for  some  time,  and  then  drawing  back 
looked  him  earnestly  in  the  face.  He  took  her  hand 
and  tried  to  muster  some  kind  expressions  to  soothe 
her ;  but  she  turned  away,  walked  passionately  up  and 
down  the  room,  and  then  threw  herself  in  great  agita- 
tion into  a  corner  of  the  sofa,  EmiHa  went  up  to  her, 
but  was  violently  repulsed ;  and  a  scene  ensued,  which 
had  in  it,  says  the  principal  performer,  nothing  really 
theatrical,  although  it  could  only  be  represented  on  the 
stage  by  an  actor  of  sensibility.  Lucinda  poured  forth 
reproaches  against  her  sister.  "  This,"  said  she,  "  is  not 
the  first  heart  beating  for  me  that  you  have  wheedled 
away.  Was  it  not  so  with  the  one  now  betrothed  to 
you,  while  I  looked  on  and  bore  it  ?  I,  only,  know  the 
tears  it  cost  me ;  and  now  you  would  rob  me  of  this 
one.  How  many  would  you  manage  to  keep  at  once  ? 
I  am  frank  and  easy-tempered,  and  all  think  they  un- 
derstand me  at  once,  and  may  slight  me.  You  are 
secret  and  quiet,  and  make  people  wonder  at  what  may 
be  concealed  behind :  there  is  nothing  there  but  a  cold, 
selfish  heart,  sacrificing  everything  to  itself."  Emilia 
seated  herself  by  her  sister,  and  remained  silent,  while 
Lucinda,  growing  more  excited,  began  to  betray  matters 
not  quite  proper  for  him  to  hear.  Emilia  made  a  sign 
to  him  to  withdraw.  But  Lucinda  caught  the  sound, 
sprang  towards  him,  and  then  remained  lost  in  thought. 
"  I  know  that  I  have  lost  you,"  she  said :  "  I  claim  you 
no  more;  —  but  neither  shall  you  have  him."  So  say- 
ing, she  grasped  liim  wildly  by  the  head,  with  her 
hands  thrust  among  his  hair,  pressed  her  face  to  his, 
and  kissed  him  repeatedly  on  the  mouth.  "  Now  fear 
my  curse !  Woe  upon  woe,  for  ever  and  ever,  to  her 
who  for  the  first  time  after  me  kisses  these  hps !  Bare 
to  sport  with  him  now !  Heaven  hears  my  curse ! 
And  you,  begone,  begone  while  you  may ! " 

He  hurried  from  the  house  never  to  return.     Is  not 
this  narrative  Hke  a  scene  in  a  novel  ?     The  excited 


112  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

little  Frenchwoman  —  the  bewildered  poet  —  the  old 
fortune-teller,  and  the  dry  old  dancing-master,  faintly 
sketched,  in  the  background,  are  the  sort  of  figures  a 
novelist  would  delight  in. 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

HERDER   AND    FREDERIKA. 

One  thing  very  noticeable  in  this  Strasburg  period  is 
the  thoroughly  German  culture  it  gave  him.  In  those 
days  culture  was  mostly  classical  and  French.  Classi- 
cal studies  had  never  exercised  much  influence  over 
him  ;  and,  indeed,  throughout  his  career,  he  approached 
antiquity  more  through  Art  than  through  the  Greek 
and  Eoman  writers.  To  the  French,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  owed  a  great  deal  both  of  direction  and  material. 
A  revival  of  the  old  German  nationality  was,  however, 
actively  agitated  at  this  epoch.  Klopstock,  Lessing, 
Herder,  Shakespeare,  and  Ossian  were  the  rivals  op- 
posed to  France.  A  feeling  of  national  pride  gave 
its  momentum  to  this  change  in  taste.  Gothic  art 
began  to  be  considered  the  true  art  of  modern  times. 

At  the  table  dliote  our  friends,  all  German,  not  only 
banished  the  French  language,  but  made  a  point  of  be- 
ing in  every  way  unlike  the  French.  French  literature 
was  ridiculed  as  affected,  insincere,  unnatural.  The 
truth,  homely  strength,  and  simplicity  of  the  German 
character  were  set  against  this  literature  of  courtiers. 
Goethe  had  been  dabbling  in  medieval  studies,  had 
been  awestruck  by  the  cathedral,  had  been  inspired  by 
Shakespeare,  and  had  seen  Lessing's  iconoclastic  wit 
scattering  the  pretensions  of  French  poetry.  More- 
over, he  had  read  the  biography  of  "  Gotz  von  Berlichin- 
gen  ; "  and  the  picture  of  that  Titan  in  an  age  of  anarchy 
which  he  had  conjured  up  from  the  meagre  materials 

"3 


114  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

had  so  impressed  itself  upon  him,  that  it  slowly  grew 
into  a  dramatic  conception.  The  legend  of  "  Faust " 
especially  attracted  him,  now  that  he  was  in  the  condi- 
tion into  which  youths  so  readily  fall  after  a  brief  and 
unsatisfactory  attempt  to  penetrate  the  mysteries  of 
science.  "  Like  him,  too,  I  had  swept  the  circle  of 
science,  and  had  early  learned  its  vanity ;  like  him 
I  had  trodden  various  paths,  always  returning  unsatis- 
fied." The  studies  of  alchemy,  medicine,  jurisprudence, 
philosophy,  and  theology,  which  had  so  long  engaged 
him,  must  have  made  him  feel  quite  a  personal  interest 
in  the  old  Faust  legend. 

In  such  a  mood  the  acquaintance  with  Herder  was 
of  great  importance.  Herder  was  five  years  his  senior, 
and  had  already  created  a  name  for  himself.  He  came 
to  Strasburg  with  an  eye-disease,  which  obliged  him 
to  remain  there  the  whole  winter,  during  the  cure. 
Goethe,  charmed  with  his  vigorous  intellect,  attended 
on  him  during  the  operation,  and  sat  with  him  morning 
and  evening  during  his  convalescence,  listening  to  the 
wisdom  which  fell  from  those  hps,  as  a  pupil  listens  to 
a  much-loved  master.  Great  was  the  contrast  between 
the  two  men,  yet  the  difference  did  not  separate  them. 
Herder  was  decided,  clear,  pedagogic  ;  knowing  his  own 
aims,  and  fond  of  communicating  his  ideas,  Goethe 
was  skeptical  and  inquiring.  Herder,  rude,  sarcastic, 
and  bitter ;  Goethe  amiable  and  infinitely  tolerant. 
The  bitterness  which  repelled  so  many  friends  from 
Herder,  could  not  repel  Goethe :  it  was  a  peculiarity  of 
his  to  be  at  all  times  able  to  learn  from  antagonistic 
natures  ;  meeting  them  on  the  common  ground  of 
sympathy,  ho  avoided  those  subjects  on  which  they 
would  inevitably  clash.  It  is  somewhat  curious  that 
although  Herder  took  a  great  liking  to  his  young  friend, 
and  was  grateful  for  his  kind  attentions,  he  seems  to 
have  had  little  suspicion  of  his  genius.  The  only  frag- 
ment we  have  of  that  period,  which  gives  us  a  hint  of 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  115 

his  opinion,  is  in  a  letter  to  his  bride,  dated  February, 
1772  :  "  Goethe  is  really  a  good  fellow,  only  somewhat 
light  and  sparrow-like,^  for  which  I  incessantly  reproach 
him.  He  was  almost  the  only  one  who  visited  me 
during  my  illness  in  Strasburg  whom  I  saw  with 
pleasure ;  and  I  believe  I  influenced  him  in  more  ways 
than  one  to  his  advantage."  His  own  vanity  may  have 
stood  between  Goethe  and  himself;  or  he  may  have 
been  too  conscious  of  his  young  friend's  defects  to  think 
much  of  his  genius,  "  Herder,  Herder,"  Goethe  writes 
to  him  from  Strasburg,  "  be  to  me  what  you  are.  If  I 
am  destined  to  be  your  planet,  so  wUl  I  be,  and  will- 
ingly and  truly,  a  friendly  moon  to  your  earth.  But 
you  must  feel  that  I  would  rather  be  Mercury,  the 
last,  the  smallest  of  the  seven,  to  revolve  with  you 
about  the  sun,  than  the  first  of  the  five  which  turn 
round  Saturn."  ^  In  one  of  the  many  inaccuracies  of 
his  Autobiography,  he  says  that  he  withheld  from 
Herder  his  intention  of  writing  "  Gotz ; "  but  there  is 
a  passage  in  Herder's  work  on  German  Art,  addressed 
to  Goethe,  which  very  plainly  alludes  to  this  intention.^ 
Such  oversights  are  inevitable  in  retracing  the  minor 
details  of  the  past. 

There  was  indeed  contrast  enough  between  the  two, 
in  age,  character,  intellect,  and  knowledge,  to  have  pre- 
vented any  very  close  sympatliy.  Herder  loved  the 
abstract  and  ideal  in  men  and  things,  and  was  for  ever 
criticising  and  complaining  of  individuals,  because  they 
did  not  realise  his  ideal  standard.     What  Gervinus  says 


^  Nur  etwas  lelcht  und  spatzenmdssig :  I  translate  the  phrase, 
leaving  the  reader  to  interpret  it  ;  for  twenty  Germans  have  given 
twenty  different  meanings  to  the  word  "sparrow-like,"  some  re- 
ferring to  the  chattering  of  sparrows,  others  to  the  boldness  of 
sparrows,  others  to  the  curiosity  of  sparrows,  and  others  to  the 
libertine  character  of  sparrows.  Whether  Herder  meant  gay,  vola- 
tile, forward,  careless,  or  amorous,  I  cannot  decide. 

2  "  Aus  Herder's  Nachlass,"  1,  p.  28. 

3  Herder  :  "  Von  deutschen  Ait  und  Kuust,"  p.  112. 


Ii6  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

of  Herder's  relation  to  Lessing,  namely,  that  he  loved 
him  when  he  considered  him  as  a  whole,  but  could 
never  cease  plaguing  him  about  details,  holds  good 
also  of  his  relation  to  Goethe  through  hfe.  Goethe 
had  Httle  of  that  love  of  mankind  in  the  abstract, 
which  to  Herder,  and  so  many  others,  seems  the  sub- 
stitute for  individual  love,  —  which  animates  philan- 
thropists who  are  sincere  in  their  philanthropy,  even 
when  they  are  bad  husbands,  bad  fathers,  bad  brothers, 
and  bad  friends.  He  had,  instead  of  this,  the  most 
overflowing  love  for  individual  men.  His  concrete  and 
affectionate  nature  was  more  attracted  to  men  than  to 
abstractions.  It  is  because  many  do  not  recognise  this 
that  they  declaim  against  him  for  his  "  indifference  "  to 
political  matters,  to  history,  and  to  many  of  the  great 
questions  which  affect  Humanity. 

Herder's  influence  on  Goethe  was  manifold,  but 
mainly  in  the  direction  of  poetry.  He  taught  him  to 
look  at  the  Bible  as  a  magnificent  illustration  of  the 
truth  that  Poetry  is  the  product  of  a  national  spirit,  not 
the  privilege  of  a  cultivated  few.  From  the  poetry  of 
the  Hebrew  People  he  led  him  to  other  illustrations 
of  national  song ;  and  here  Homer  and  Ossian  were 
placed  highest.  It  was  at  this  time  that  Ossian  made 
the  tour  of  Europe,  and  everywhere  met  believers. 
Goethe  was  so  delighted  with  the  "wild  northern  singer, 
that  he  translated  the  song  of  "  Selma,"  and  afterward 
incorporated  it  in  "  Werther."  Besides  Shakespeare  and 
Ossian,  he  also  learned,  through  Herder,  to  appreciate 
the  "  Vicar  of  Wakefield ; "  and  the  exquisite  picture 
there  painted,  he  was  now  to  see  living  in  the  parson- 
age of  Frederika's  father. 

Upon  the  broad  and  lofty  gallery  of  the  Strasburg 
Cathedral  he  and  his  companions  often  met  to  salute 
tlie  setting  su!i  with  brimming  goblets  of  Rhine  wine. 
Tlie  calm  wide  landscape  stretched  itself  for  miles  before 
them,  and  they  pointed  out  the  several  spots   which 


"  Ut^oti  ihe  broad  and  loftv  gallerv'' 

from  the  drawing  by  W.  Kriedrich 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  117 

memory  endeared  to  each.  One  spot,  above  all  others, 
has  interest  for  us  —  Sesenheim,  the  home  of  Frederika. 
Of  all  the  women  who  enjoyed  the  distinction  of 
Goethe's  love,  none  seem  to  me  so  fascinating  as 
Frederika.  Her  idyllic  presence  is  familiar  to  every 
lover  of  German  literature,  through  the  charming  epi- 
sode of  the  Autobiography,  over  which  the  poet  lingered 
with  pecuhar  delight.  The  secretary  is  now  (1854) 
living  to  whom  this  episode  was  dictated,  and  he  re- 
members vividly  how  much  affected  Goethe  seemed 
to  be  as  these  scenes  revisited  memory  ;  walking  up 
and  down  the  room,  with  his  hands  behind  him,  he 
often  stopped  in  his  walk,  and  paused  in  the  dictation ; 
then  after  a  long  silence,  followed  by  a  deep  sigh,  he 
continued  the  narrative  in  a  lower  tone. 

Weyland,  a  fellow  boarder,  had  often  spoken  of  a 
clergyman  who,  with  his  wife  and  two  amiable  daugh- 
ters, lived  near  Drusenheim,  a  village  about  sixteen 
miles  from  Strasburg.  Early  in  October,  1770,  Wey- 
land proposed  to  his  friend  to  accompany  him  on 
a  visit  to  the  worthy  pastor.  It  was  agreed  between 
them  that  Weyland  should  introduce  him  under  the 
guise  of  a  shabby  theological  student.  His  love  of 
incognito  often  prompted  him  to  such  disguises.  In 
the  present  instance  he  borrowed  some  old  clothes,  and 
combed  his  hair  in  such  a  way  that  when  Weyland 
saw  him  he  burst  out  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  They  set 
forth  in  high  glee.  At  Drusenheim  they  stopped, 
Weyland  to  make  himself  spruce,  Goethe  to  rehearse 
his  part.  Eiding  across  the  meadows  to  Sesenheim, 
they  left  their  horses  at  the  inn,  and  walked  leisurely 
toward  the  parsonage,  —  an  old  and  somewhat  dilapi- 
dated farmhouse,  but  very  picturesque,  and  very  still. 
They  found  pastor  Brion  at  home,  and  were  welcomed 
by  him  in  a  friendly  manner.  The  rest  of  the  family 
were  in  the  fields.  Weyland  went  after  them,  leaving 
Goethe  to  discuss  parish  interests  with  the  pastor,  who 


ii8  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

soon  grew  confidential.  Presently  the  wife  appeared ; 
and  she  was  followed  by  the  eldest  daughter  bouncing 
into  the  room,  inquiring  after  Frederika,  and  hurrying 
away  again  to  seek  her. 

Itefreshments  were  brought,  and  old  acquaintances 
were  talked  over  with  Weyland,  —  Goethe  listening. 
Then  the  daughter  returned,  uneasy  at  not  having 
found  Frederika.  This  little  domestic  fuss  about  Fred- 
erika prepared  the  poet  for  her  appearance.  At  length 
she  came  in.  Both  girls  wore  the  national  costume, 
with  its  short,  white,  full  skirt  and  furbelow,  not  con- 
cealing the  neatest  of  ankles,  a  tight  bodice,  and  black 
taffeta  apron.  Frederika's  straw  hat  hung  on  her  arm ; 
and  the  beautiful  braids  of  her  fair  hair  drooped  on  a 
delicate  white  neck.  Merry  blue  eyes,  and  a  piquant 
little  nez  retrousse,  completed  her  attractions.  In  gaz- 
ing on  this  bright  young  creature,  then  only  sixteen, 
Goethe  felt  ashamed  of  his  disguise.  It  hurt  his 
amour  propre  to  appear  thus  before  her  like  a  bookish 
student,  shorn  of  all  personal  advantages.  Meanwhile 
conver.sation  rattled  on  between  Weyland  and  his  fam- 
ily. Endless  was  the  Ust  of  uncles,  aunts,  nieces, 
cousins,  gossips,  and  guests  they  had  something  to  say 
about,  leaving  him  completely  excluded  from  the  con- 
ver.sation.  Frederika,  seeing  this,  seated  herself  by 
him,  and  with  charming  frankness  began  to  talk  to 
him.  Music  was  lying  on  the  harpsichord  ;  she  asked 
liim  if  he  played,  and  on  his  modestly  qualified  affirm- 
ative begged  him  "  to  favour  them."  Her  father,  how- 
ever, suggested  that  she  ought  to  begin  by  a  song. 
She  sat  down  to  the  harpsicliord,  which  was  somewhat 
out  of  tune,  and,  in  a  provincial  style,  performed  sev- 
eral pieces,  such  as  then  were  Ihouglit  enchanting. 
After  this  she  began  to  sing.  The  song  was  tender 
and  melancholy,  liut  she  was  ap]>arently  not  in  tlie 
uiood,  for  acknowledging  her  failure  she  rose  and  said, 
"  If  1  sing  badly  it  is  not  the  fault  of  my  harpsichord 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  119 

nor  of  my  teacher :  let  us  go  into  the  open  air,  and 
then  you  shall  hear  my  Alsatian  and  Swiss  songs." 
Into  the  air  they  went,  and  soon  her  merry  voice 
carolled  forth : 

"  I  come  from  a  forest  as  dark  as  the  night, 
And  believe  me,  I  love  thee,  my  only  delight. 
Ei,  ja,  ei,  ja,  ei,  ei,  ei,  ei,  ja,  ja,  ja !  "  ^ 

He  was  already  a  captive. 

His  tendency  to  see  pictures  and  poetry  in  the  actual 
scenes  of  life,  here  made  him  see  reahsed  the  Wake- 
field family.  If  pastor  Brion  did  not  accurately  repre- 
sent Mr.  Primrose,  yet  he  might  stand  for  him ;  the 
elder  daughter  for  Olivia,  the  younger  for  Sophia ;  and 
when  at  supper  a  youth  came  into  the  room,  Goethe 
involuntarily  exclaimed,  "  What,  Moses  too  ! "  A  very 
merry  supper  they  had ;  so  merry  that  Weyland,  fear- 
ing lest  wine  and  Frederika  should  make  his  friend 
betray  himself,  proposed  a  walk  in  the  moonlight. 
Weyland  offered  his  arm  to  Salome,  the  elder  daughter 
(always  named  Olivia  in  the  Autobiography),  Fred- 
erika took  Goethe's  arm.  Youth  and  moonlight  — 
need  one  say  more  ?  Already  he  began  to  scrutinise 
her  tone  in  speaking  of  cousins  and  neighbours,  jealous 
lest  it  should  betray  an  affection.  But  her  blithe  spirit 
was  as  yet  untroubled,  and  he  listened  in  delicious 
silence  to  her  unembarrassed  loquacity. 

On  retiring  for  the  night  the  friends  had  much  to 
talk  over.  Weyland  assured  him  the  incognito  had 
not  been  betrayed ;  on  the  contrary,  the  family  had 
inquired  after  the  young  Goethe,  of  whose  joviality 
and  eccentricities  they  had  often  heard.  And  now 
came  the  tremulous  question ;  w^as  Frederika  engaged  ? 
No.     That  was  a  rehef !     Had  she  ever  been  in  love  ? 

1  The  entire  song  is  to  be  found  in  the  "  Sesenheimer  Lieder- 
buch  "  and  in  Viehoff :  "  Goethe  Erlautert,"  vol.  i.  p.  110. 


120  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

No.  Still  better !  Thus  chatting,  they  sat  till  deep 
iu  the  uight  as  friends  chat  on  such  occasions,  with 
hearts  too  full  and  brains  too  heated  for  repose.  At 
dawn  Goethe  was  awake,  impatient  to  see  Frederika 
with  the  dew  of  morning  on  her  cheek.  While  dress- 
ing he  looked  at  his  costume  in  disgust,  and  tried  in 
vain  to  remedy  it.  His  hair  could  be  managed ;  but 
when  his  arms  were  thrust  into  his  threadbare  coat, 
the  sleeves  of  which  were  ludicrously  short,  he  looked 
pitiable ;  Weyland,  peeping  at  him  from  under  the 
coverlet,  giggled.  In  his  despair  he  resolved  to  ride 
back  to  Strasburg,  and  return  in  his  own  costume. 
On  the  way  another  plan  suggested  itself.  He  ex- 
changed clothes  with  the  son  of  the  landlord  at  the 
Drusenheim  Inn,  a  youth  of  his  own  size ;  corked 
his  eyebrows,  imitated  the  son's  gait  and  speech,  and 
returned  to  the  parsonage  the  bearer  of  a  cake.  This 
second  disguise  also  succeeded,  so  long  as  he  kept  at 
a  distance ;  but  Frederika  running  up  to  him  and  say- 
ing, "  George,  what  do  you  here  ? "  he  was  forced  to 
reveal  himself.  "  Not  George,  but  one  who  asks  for- 
giveness." "  You  shocking  creature  1 "  she  exclaimed, 
"  how  you  frightened  me ! "  The  jest  was  soon  ex- 
plained and  forgiven,  not  only  by  Frederika,  but  by 
the  family,  who  laughed  heartily  at  it. 

Gaily  passed  the  day ;  the  two  hourly  falling  deeper 
and  deeper  in  love.  Passion  does  not  chronicle  by 
time :  moments  are  hours,  hours  years,  when  two  hearts 
are  rushing  into  one.  It  matters  little,  therefore,  that 
the  Autobiography  speaks  only  of  two  days  passed  in 
this  happy  circle,  whereas  a  letter  of  his  says  distinctly 
he  was  there  "  some  days  —  ciriif/e  Taijc "  {less  than 
three  cannot  be  understood  by  eiauje).  He  was  there 
long  enough  to  fall  in  love,  and  to  captivate  the  whole 
family  by  his  gaiety,  obligingness,  and  poetic  gifts. 
He  had  given  them  a  taste  of  his  quality  as  a  roman- 
cist,  by  telling    the   story   of  "The   New   Melu.'^ina" 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  121 

(subsequently  published  in  the  "  Wander jahr").  He 
had  also  mterested  himself  in  the  pastor's  plans  for  the 
rebuilding  of  the  parsonage,  and  proposed  to  take  away 
the  sketches  with  him  to  Strasburg. 

The  pain  of  separation  was  hghtened  by  the  promise 
of  speedy  reunion.  He  returned  to  Strasburg  with 
new  life  in  his  heart.  He  had  not  long  before  written 
to  a  friend  that  for  the  first  time  he  knew  what  it  w^as 
to  be  happy  without  his  heart  being  engaged.  Pleasant 
people  and  manifold  studies  left  him  no  time  iov  feel- 
ing. "  Enough,  my  present  hfe  is  like  a  sledge  journey, 
splendid  and  sounding,  but  with  just  as  little  for  the 
heart  as  it  has  much  for  eyes  and  ears."  Another  tone 
runs  through  his  letters  now,  to  judge  from  the  only 
one  which  has  been  recovered.^  It  is  addressed  to 
Frederika,  dated  the  15th  October. 

"  Dear  new  Friend  :  —  I  dare  to  call  you  so ;  for 
if  I  can  trust  the  language  of  eyes,  then  did  mine  in 
the  first  glance  read  the  hope  of  this  new  friendship 
in  yours  —  and  for  our  hearts  I  will  answer.  You, 
good  and  gentle  as  I  know  you,  will  you  not  show 
some  favour  to  one  who  loves  you  so  ? 

"  Dear,  dear  friend,  that  I  have  something  to  say 
to  you  there  can  be  no  question ;  but  it  is  quite 
another  matter  whether  I  exactly  know  wherefore  I 
now  write,  and  what  I  may  write.  Thus  much  I  am 
conscious  of  by  a  certain  inward  unrest :  that  I  would 
gladly  be  by  your  side,  and  a  scrap  of  paper  is  as  true 
a  consolation  and  as  winged  a  steed  for  me  here  in 
noisy  Strasburg  as  it  can  be  to  you  in  your  quiet, 
if  you  truly  feel  the  separation  from  your  friend. 

"  The  circumstances  of  our  journey  home  you  can 
easily  imagine,  if  you  marked  my  pain  at  parting,  and 
how  I  longed  to  remain  behind.     Weyland's  thoughts 

1  SchoU  :  "  Briefe  unci  Aufsatze,"  p.  61.  The  letters  in  PfeiSer's 
book  are  manifest  forgeries. 


122  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

went    forward,   mine   backward;    so   you   can    under- 
stand how  our  conversation  was  neither  interesting  nor 

copious. 

"At  the  end  of  the  Wanzenau  we  thought  to 
shorten  our  route,  and  found  ourselves  in  the  midst 
of  a  morass.  Night  came  on ;  and  we  only  needed  the 
storm  which  threatened  to  overtake  us,  to  have  had 
every  reason  for  being  fully  convinced  of  the  love 
and  constancy  of  our  princesses.^ 

"  Meanwhile,  the  scroll  which  I  held  constantly  in 
my  hand  —  fearful  of  losing  it  —  was  a  talisman  which 
charmed  away  all  the  perils  of  the  journey.    And  now  ? 

oh  I  dare  not  utter  it  —  either  you  can  guess  it,  or 

you  will  not  believe  it ! 

"At  last  we  arrived,  and  our  first  thought,  which 
had  been  our  joy  on  the  road,  was  the  project  soon 
to  see  you  again. 

"How  delicious  a  sensation  is  the  hope  of  seeing 
again  those  we  love !  And  we,  when  our  coddled 
heart  is  a  little  sorrowful,  at  once  bring  it  medicine 
and  say :  Dear  little  heart,  be  quiet,  you  will  not  long 
be  away  from  her  you  love ;  be  quiet,  dear  little  heart ! 
Meanwhile  we  give  it  a  chimera  to  play  with ;  and 
then  is  it  good  and  still  as  a  child  to  whom  the 
mother  gives  a  doll  instead  of  the  apple  which  it  must 
not  eat. 

"  Enough,  we  are  not  here,  and  so  you  see  you  were 
wrong.  You  wi^uld  not  believe  that  the  noisy  gaiety 
of  Strasburg  would  be  disagreeable  to  me  after  the 
sweet  country  pleasures  enjoyed  with  you.  Never, 
Mamsell,  did  Strasburg  seem  so  empty  to  me  as  now. 
I  liope,  indeed,  it  will  be  better  when  the  remem- 
brance of  those  charming  hours  is  a  little  dimmed  — 
wlu'u  T  no  longer  feel  so  vividly  how  good,  how 
amiable  my  friend  is.     Yet  ought  I  to  forget  that,  or 

>  An  ftlhi.sion  ilnubtless  intelligible  to  the  person  addressed,  but 
I  can  make  nothing  of  it. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  123 

to  wish  it  ?     No ;  I  will  rather  retain  a  little  sorrow 
and  write  to  you  frequently. 

"And  now  many,  many  thanks  and  many  sincere 
remembrances  to  your  dear  parents.  To  your  dear 
sister  many  hundred  .  .  .  what  I  would  so  willingly 
give  you  again ! " 

A  few  days  after  his  return,  Herder  underwent  the 
operation  previously  alluded  to.  Goethe  was  con- 
stantly with  him ;  but  as  he  carefully  concealed  all 
his  mystical  studies,  fearing  to  have  them  ridiculed, 
so  one  may  suppose  he  concealed  also  the  new  passion 
which  deliciously  tormented  him.  In  silence  he 
occupied  himself  with  Frederika,  and  carefully  sketched 
plans  for  the  new  parsonage.  He  sent  her  books,  and 
received  from  her  a  letter,  which  of  course  seemed 
priceless. 

In  November  he  was  again  at  Sesenheim.  Night 
had  already  set  in  when  he  arrived ;  his  impatience 
would  not  suffer  him  to  wait  till  morning,  the  more 
so  as  the  landlord  assured  him  the  young  ladies  had 
only  just  gone  home,  where  "  they  expected  some  one." 
He  felt  jealous  of  this  expected  friend  ;  and  he  hastened 
to  the  parsonage.  Great  was  his  surprise  to  find  them 
Twt  surprised ;  greater  still  to  hear  Frederika  whisper, 
"  Did  I  not  say  so  ?  Here  he  is  !  "  Her  loving  heart 
had  prophesied  his  coming,  and  had  named  the  very 
day. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  many  guests  were 
expected.  Early  in  the  morning  Frederika  proposed 
a  walk  with  him,  leaving  her  mother  and  sister  to 
look  after  domestic  preparations.  Who  shall  describe 
that  walk,  wherein  the  youthful  pair  abandoned 
themselves  without  concealment  to  all  the  delightful 
nothings  of  dawning  love  ?  They  talked  over  the 
expected  pleasures  of  the  day,  and  arranged  how  to 
be  always  together.     She  taught  him  several  games; 


124  L'FE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

he  taught  her  others ;  and  underneath  these  innocent 
arrangements  Love  serenely  smiled.  The  church  bell 
called  them  from  their  walk.  To  church  they  went, 
and  listened  —  not  very  attentively  —  to  the  worthy 
pastor.  Another  kind  of  devotion  made  their  hearts 
devout.  He  meditated  on  her  charming  qualities,  and 
as  his  glance  rested  on  her  ruddy  lips,  he  recalled  the 
last  time  woman's  lips  had  been  pressed  to  his  own ; 
recalled  the  curse  which  the  excited  French  girl  had 
uttered,  a  curse  which  hitherto  had  acted  like  a  spell. 

This  superstition  not  a  httle  troubled  him  in  games 
of  forfeits,  where  kisses  always  form  a  large  proportion  ; 
and  his  presence  of  mind  was  often  tried  in  the  attempts 
to  evade  them  ;  the  more  so  as  many  of  the  guests,  sus- 
pecting the  tender  relation  between  him  and  Frederika, 
sportively  took  every  occasion  to  make  them  kiss. 
She,  with  natural  instinct,  aided  him  in  his  evasions. 
The  time  came,  however,  when,  carried  away  by  the 
excitement  of  the  dance  and  games,  he  felt  the  burning 
pressure  of  her  lips  crush  the  superstition  in  a 

"  Kiss,  a  long,  long  kiss 
Of  youth  and  beauty  gathered  into  one." 

He  returned  to  Strasburg,  if  not  a  formally  betrothed, 
yet  an  accepted  lover.  As  such  the  famil}'  and  friends 
seem  to  have  regarded  him.  Probably  no  betrothal 
took  place,  on  account  of  his  youth,  and  the  necessity 
of  obtaining  his  father's  consent.  His  muse,  lately 
silent,  now  found  voice  again,  and  several  of  the 
poems  Frederika  inspired  arc  to  be  read  in  his  pub- 
lished works.^ 

He  had  been  sent  to  Strasburg  to  gain  a  doctor's 
degree.  His  Dissertation  had  been  commenced  just 
before  this  Sesenheim  episode.     But  Shakespeare,  Os- 

1  Tlie  whole  have  been  reprinted  in  liie  "  Seseuheimcr  Lieder- 
buch  ;"  and  in  Viehoff's  "Goethe  Erlautert." 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  125 

sian,  "  Faust,"  "  Gcitz,"  aud,  above  all,  Frederika,  scat- 
tered his  plans ;  and  he  followed  the  advice  of  friends 
to  choose,  instead  of  a  Dissertation,  a  number  of  Theses, 
upon  which  to  hold  a  disputation.  His  father  would 
not  hear  of  such  a  thing,  but  demanded  a  regular  Dis- 
sertation. He  chose,  therefore,  this  theme,  "  That  it  is 
the  duty  of  every  law-maker  to  establish  a  certain  relig- 
ious worship  binding  upon  clergy  and  laity."  A  theme 
he  supported  by  historical  and  philosophical  argu- 
ments. The  Dissertation  was  written  in  Latin,  and 
sent  to  his  father,  who  received  it  with  pleasure.  But 
the  dean  of  the  faculty  would  not  receive  it  —  either 
because  its  contents  were  paradoxical,  or  because  it 
was  not  sufficiently  erudite.  In  lieu  thereof  he  was 
permitted  to  choose  Theses  for  disputation.  The  dis- 
putation was  held  on  the  6th  of  August,  1771,  his 
opponent  being  Franz  Lerse,  who  pressed  him  hard. 
A  jovial  Schmaus,  a  real  student's  banquet,  crowned 
this  promotion  of  Doctor  Goethe.^ 

He  could  find  no  time  for  visits  to  Sesenheim  during 
this  active  preparation  for  his  doctorate ;  but  he  was 
not  entirely  separated  from  Frederika :  her  mother  had 
come  with  both  daughters  to  Strasburg,  on  a  visit  to 
a  rich  relative.  He  had  been  for  some  time  acquainted 
with  this  family,  and  had  many  opportunities  of  meet- 
ing his  beloved.  The  girls,  who  came  in  their  Alsatian 
costume,  found  their  cousins  and  friends  dressed  like 
Frenchwomen ;  a  contrast  which  greatly  vexed  Ohvia, 
who  felt  "  like  a  maidservant "  among  these  fashionable 
friends.  Her  restless  manners  evidently  made  Goethe 
somewhat  ashamed  of  her.  Frederika,  on  the  other 
hand,  though  equally  out  of  her  element  in  this  society, 
was  more  self-possessed,  and  perfectly  contented  so  long 

1  There  is  some  obscm-ity  on  this  point.  From  a  letter  to  Salz- 
mann,  it  seems  he  only  got  a  licentiate  degree  at  this  time.  The 
doctorate  he  certainly  had  ;  but  ivhen  his  diploma  was  prepared  is 
not  known. 


126  LIFE  AND  WORKS   OF  GOETHE 

as  he  was  by  her  side.     There  is  in  the  Autobiography 
a  siguiticaut  phrase :  this  visit  of  the  family  is  called  a 
«  peculiar  test  of  his  love."     And  test  it  was,  as  every 
one  must  see  who  considers  the  relations  in  w^hich  the 
lovers  stood.     He  was  the  son  of  an  important  Frank- 
fort citizen,  and  held  almost  the  position  of  a  nobleman 
in  relation  to  the  poor  pastor's  daughter.     Indeed,  the 
social  disparity  was  so  gi-eat,  that  many  explain  his 
not  marrying  Frederika  on  the  gi-ound  of  such  a  match 
being  impossible,  —  "  his  father,"  it  is  said,  "  would  not 
have  listened  to  such  a  thing  for  a  moment."     Love  in 
no  wise  troubles  itself  about  station,  never  asks  "  what 
will  the  world  say?"   but   there   is  quite   a  different 
solicitude   felt  by   Love   when  approaching  Marriage. 
In  the  first  eagerness  of  passion,  a  prince  may  bhndly 
pursue  a  peasant ;  but  when  his  love  is  gratified  by  re- 
turn,   when    reflection    reasserts   its    duties,   then   the 
prince  will  consider  what  in  other  mmds  will  be  the 
estimation  of  his  mistress.     Men  are  very  sensitive  to 
the  opinions  of  others  on  their  mistresses  and  wives ; 
and  Goethe's  love  must  indeed  have  been  put  to  the 
test,  at  seeing  Frederika  and  her  sister  thus  in  glaring 
contrast  with  the  society  in  which  he  moved.     In  the 
groves  of  Sesenheim  she  was  a  wood-nymph;  but  in 
Strasburg  salons  the   wood-nymph  seemed  a  peasant. 
Who  is  there  that  has  not  experienced  a  similar  destruc- 
tion of  illusion,  in  seeing  an  admired  person  lose  almost 
all  cliarm  in  the  change  of  environment  ? 

Frederika  laid  her  sweet  commands  on  him  one 
evening,  and  bade  him  entertain  the  company  by  read- 
ing "Handet"  aloud.  He  did  so,  to  the  great  enjoy- 
ment of  all,  especially  Frederika,  "  who  from  time  to 
time  siglied  deeply,  and  a  passing  colour  tinged  her 
cheeks."  Was  she  thinking  of  poor  Ophelia  —  placing 
herself  in  that  forlorn  positiim  ? 

"  For  IIiuiiltM  and  the  tritlincc  of  his  favovu-, 
Hold  it  a  fashion  and  u  toy  in  blood  I  " 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  127 

She  may  have  had  some  presentiment  of  her  fate. 
The  applause,  however,  which  her  lover  gained  was 
proudly  accepted  by  her,  "  and  in  her  graceful  manner 
she  did  not  deny  herself  the  httle  pride  of  having 
shone  through  him." 

It  is  quite  certain  that  his  mind  was  disturbed  by 
vague  uneasiness.  "  How  happy  is  he,"  he  writes, 
"  whose  heart  is  light  and  free !  Courage  urges  us  to 
confront  difficulties  and  dangers,  and  only  by  great 
labour  are  great  joys  obtained.  That,  perhaps,  is  the 
worst  I  have  to  allege  against  Love.  They  say  it  gives 
courage :  never  !  The  heart  that  loves  is  weak.  When 
it  beats  wildly  in  the  bosom,  and  tears  fill  our  eyes, 
and  we  sit  in  an  inconceivable  rapture  as  they  flow  — 
then,  oh  !  then,  we  are  so  weak,  that  flower-chains  bind 
us,  not  because  they  have  the  strength  of  any  magic, 
but  because  we  tremble  lest  we  break  them." 

The  mention  of  "  Hamlet "  leads  us  naturally  into 
the  society  where  he  sought  oblivion,  w^hen  Frederika 
quitted  Strasburg.  Her  departure,  he  confesses,  was  a 
relief  to  him.  She  herself  felt,  on  leaving,  that  the 
end  of  their  romance  was  approaching.  He  plunged 
into  gaiety  to  drown  tormenting  thoughts.  "  If  you 
could  but  see  me,"  he  wrote  to  Salzmann,  after  describ- 
ing a  dance  which  had  made  him  forget  his  fever : 
"  my  whole  being  was  sunk  in  dancing.  And  yet 
could  I  but  say :  I  am  happy ;  that  would  be  better 
than  all.  '  Who  is't  can  say  I  am  at  the  worst  ? '  says 
Edgar  (in '  Lear ').  That  is  some  comfort,  dear  friend. 
My  heart  is  like  a  weathercock  when  a  storm  is  rising, 
and  the  gusts  are  changeable."  Some  days  later  he 
wrote :  "  All  is  not  clear  in  my  soul.  I  am  too  curi- 
ously awake  not  to  feel  that  I  grasp  at  shadows.  And 
yet.  .  .  .  To-morrow  at  seven  my  horse  is  saddled,  and 
then  adieu ! " 

Besides  striving  to  drown  in  gaiety  these  tormenting 
thoughts,  he  also  strove  to  divert  them  into  channels 


128  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

of  nobler  activity ;  stimulated  thereto  by  the  Shake- 
spearian fanaticism  of  his  new  friend  Lenz. 

lleinhold  Lenz,  irrevocably  forgotten  as  a  poet,  whom 
a  vain  ellbrt  on  the  part  of  Gruppe  has  tried  to  bring 
once  more  into  public  favour,^  is  not  without  interest 
to  the  student  of  German  literature  during  the  Sttorm 
und  Drang  (Storm  and  Stress)  period.  He  came  to 
Strasburg  in  1770,  accompanying  two  young  noblemen 
as  their  tutor,  and  minghug  with  them  in  the  best 
society  of  the  place ;  and  by  means  of  Salzmann  was 
introduced  to  the  club.  Although  he  had  begun  by 
translating  Pope's  "  Essay  on  Criticism,"  he  was,  in  the 
strictest  sense  of  the  word,  one  of  the  Shakespeare 
bigots,  who  held  to  the  severest  orthodoxy  in  Shake- 
speare as  a  first  article  of  their  creed,  and  who  not  only 
maintained  the  Shakespeare  clowns  to  be  incomparable, 
but  strove  to  imitate  them  in  their  language.  It  is 
not  easy  for  us  to  imagine  the  effect  which  the  revela- 
tion of  such  a  mind  as  Shakespeare's  must  have  pro- 
duced on  the  young  Germans.  His  strength,  profundity 
of  thought,  originality  and  audacity  of  language,  his 
beauty,  pathos,  sublimity,  wit,  and  wild  overflowing 
humour,  and  his  accuracy  of  observation  as  well  as 
depth  of  insight  into  the  mysteries  of  passion  and 
character,  were  qualities  which  no  false  criticism,  and, 
above  all,  no  national  taste  prevented  Germans  from 
appreciating.  It  was  very  different  in  France.  There 
an  established  form  of  art,  with  which  national  pride 
was  identified,  and  an  established  set  of  critical  rules, 
upon  which  Taste  securely  rested,  necessarily  made 
Shakespeare  appear  like  a  Cyclops  of  Genius  —  a  mon- 
ster, though  of  superhuman  proportions.  Frenchmen 
could  not  help  being  shocked  at  many  things  in  Shake- 
speare; yet  even  those  who  were  most  outraged,  were 
also  most  amazed  at  the  pearls  to  be  found  upon  the 
dunghill.       In  Germany  the   pearls   alone  were  seen. 

*  Gruppe  :  '>  Roiiihold  Leuz,  Leben  und  Werke,"  1861. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  129 

French  taste  had  beeu  pitilessly  ridiculed  by  Lessing. 
The  Freoch  Tragedy  had  been  contrasted  with  Shake- 
speare, and  pronounced  unworthy  of  comparison.  To 
the  Germans,  therefore,  Shakespeare  was  a  standard 
borne  by  all  who  combated  against  France,  and  his 
greatness  was  proclaimed  with  something  of  wilful 
preference.  The  state  of  German  literature  also  ren- 
dered his  influence  the  more  powerful.  Had  Shake- 
speare been  first  revealed  to  us  when  Mr.  Hayley  was 
the  great  laureate  of  the  age,  we  should  have  felt  some- 
thing of  the  eagerness  with  which  the  young  and  ardent 
minds  of  Germany  received  this  greatest  poet  of  all 


ages. 


I  am  fortunately  enabled,  thanks  to  Otto  Jahn,  to 
give  here  a  very  interesting  illustration  of  the  enthu- 
siasm with  which  these  young  men  studied  Shakespeare ; 
and  among  the  new  materials  this  Biography  contains, 
perhaps  nothing  will  be  so  welcome  in  England.  It  is 
an  oration  prepared  by  Goethe  for  one  of  the  meetings 
of  the  Shakespeare  circle  before  mentioned.  To  hear 
the  youth  of  one  and  twenty  thus  eloquent  on  his  great 
idol,  lets  us  intimately  into  the  secret  of  his  mental 
condition. 

ORATION   ON   SHAKESPEARE. 

"  In  my  opinion,  the  noblest  of  our  sentiments  is  the 
hope  of  continuing  to  live,  even  when  destiny  seems  to 
have  carried  us  back  into  the  common  lot  of  non-exist- 
ence. This  life,  gentlemen,  is  much  too  short  for  our 
souls ;  the  proof  is,  that  every  man,  the  lowest  as  well 
as  the  highest,  the  most  incapable  as  well  as  the  most 
meritorious,  will  be  tired  of  anything  sooner  than  of 
life,  and  that  no  one  reaches  the  goal  toward  which  he 
sets  out ;  for  however  long  a  man  may  be  prosperous 
in  his  career,  still  at  last,  and  often  when  in  sight  of 
the  hoped-for  object,  he  falls  into  a  grave,  which  God 


130  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

knows  who  dug  for  him,  and  is  reckoned  as  nothing. 
Reckoned  as  nothing  ?  I  ?  who  am  everything  to  my- 
self, since  I  know  things  only  through  myself !  So 
cries  every  one  who  is  truly  conscious  of  himself ;  and 
makes  great  strides  through  this  life  —  a  preparation 
for  the  unending  course  above.  Each,  it  is  true,  accord- 
ing to  his  measure.  If  one  sets  out  with  the  sturdiest 
walking  pace,  the  other  wears  seven-leagued  boots  and 
outstrips  him  ?  two  steps  of  the  latter  are  equal  to  a 
day's  journey  of  the  former.  Be  it  as  it  may  with 
him  of  the  seven-leagued  boots,  this  diligent  traveller 
remains  our  friend  and  our  companion,  while  we  are 
amazed  at  the  gigantic  steps  of  the  other  and  admire 
him,  follow  his  footsteps  and  measure  them  with  our 
own. 

"  Let  us  up  and  be  going,  gentlemen !  To  watch 
a  solitary  march  like  this  enlarges  and  animates  our 
souls  more  than  to  stare  at  the  thousand  footsteps  of 
a  royal  procession.  To-day  we  honour  the  memory 
of  the  greatest  traveller  on  this  journey  of  life,  and 
thereby  we  are  doing  an  honour  to  ourselves.  When 
we  know  how  to  appreciate  a  merit,  we  have  the  germ 
of  it  within  ourselves.  Do  not  expect  that  I  should 
say  much  or  methodically ;  mental  calmness  is  no  gar- 
ment for  a  festival ;  and  as  yet  I  have  thought  little 
upon  Shakespeare ;  to  have  glimpses,  and,  in  exalted 
passages,  to  feel,  is  the  utmost  I  have  been  able  to 
obtain.  The  first  page  of  his  that  I  read  made  me  his 
for  life ;  and  when  I  had  finished  a  single  play,  I  stood 
like  one  born  blind,  on  whom  a  miraculous  hand  be- 
stows sight  in  a  moment.  I  saw,  I  felt,  in  the  most 
vivid  manner,  that  my  existence  was  infinitely  ex- 
panded, everything  was  now  unknown  to  me,  and  the 
unwonted  light  pained  my  eyes.  By  little  and  little  I 
learned  to  see,  and,  thanks  to  my  receptive  genius,  I 
f-ontinue  vividly  to  feel  what  I  have  won.  I  did  not 
hesitate  for  a  moment  about  renouncing  the  classical 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  131 

drama.  The  unity  of  place  seemed  to  mc  irksome  as 
a  prison,  the  unities  of  action  and  of  time  burtheusome 
fetters  to  our  imagination ;  I  sprang  into  the  open  air, 
and  felt  for  the  first  time  that  I  had  hands  and  feet. 
And  now  that  I  see  how  much  injury  the  men  of  rule 
did  me  in  their  dungeon,  and  how  many  free  souls  still 
crouch  there,  my  heart  would  burst  if  1  did  not  declare 
war  against  them,  and  did  not  seek  daily  to  batter  down 
their  towers. 

"  The  Greek  drama,  which  the  French  took  as  their 
model,  was  both  in  its  inward  and  outward  character 
such,  that  it  would  be  easier  for  a  marquis  to  imitate 
Alcibiades  than  for  Corneille  to  follow  Sophocles.  At 
first  an  intermezzo  of  divine  worship,  then  a  mode  of 
political  celebration,  the  tragedy  presented  to  the  people 
great  isolated  actions  of  their  fathers  with  the  pure 
simplicity  of  perfection ;  it  stirred  thorough  and  gi-eat 
emotions  in  souls  because  it  was  itself  thorough  and 
great.  And  in  what  souls  ?  Greek  souls  !  I  cannot 
explain  to  myself  what  that  expresses,  but  I  feel  it, 
and  appeal  for  the  sake  of  brevity  to  Homer  and 
Sophocles,  and  Theocritus;  they  have  taught  me  to 
feel  it. 

"Now  hereupon  I  immediately  ask:  Frenchman, 
what  wilt  thou  do  with  the  Greek  armour  ?  it  is  too 
strong  and  too  heavy  for  thee. 

"  Hence,  also,  French  tragedies  are  parodies  of  them- 
selves. How  regularly  everything  goes  forward,  and 
how  they  are  as  like  each  other  as  shoes,  and  tire- 
some withal,  especially  in  the  fourth  act  —  all  this, 
gentlemen,  you  know  from  experience,  and  I  say 
nothing  about  it. 

"  Who  it  was  that  first  thought  of  bringmg  great 
pohtical  actions  on  the  stage,  I  know  not;  this  is  a 
subject  which  affords  an  opportunity  to  the  amateur 
for  a  critical  treatise.  I  doubt  whether  the  honour  of 
the  invention  belongs  to   Shakespeare;   it  is  enough 


132  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

that  he  brought  this  species  of  drama  to  the  pitch 
wliich  still  remains  the  highest,  for  few  eyes  can  reach 
it,  and  thus  it  is  scarcely  to  be  hoped  that  any  one 
will  see  beyond  it  or  ascend  above  it.  Shakespeare, 
my  friend !  if  thou  wert  yet  amongst  us,  I  could  hve 
nowhere  but  with  thee  ;  how  gladly  would  I  play  the 
subordinate  character  of  a  Pylades,  if  thou  wert  Ores- 
tes ;  yes,  rather  than  be  a  venerated  high  priest  in  the 
temple  of  Delphos. 

"  I  will  break  off,  gentlemen,  and  write  more  to- 
morrow, for  I  am  in  a  strain  which,  perhaps,  is  not  so 
edifying  to  you  as  it  is  heartfelt  by  me. 

"  Shakespeare's  dramas  are  a  beautiful  casket  of 
rarities,  in  which  the  history  of  the  world  passes 
before  our  eyes  on  the  invisible  thread  of  time.  His 
plots,  to  speak  according  to  the  ordinary  style,  are  no 
plots,  for  his  plays  all  turn  upon  the  hidden  point 
(which  no  philosopher  has  yet  seen  and  defined),  in 
which  the  peculiarity  of  our  ego,  the  pretended  freedom 
of  our  will,  clashes  with  the  necessary  course  of  the 
whole.  But  our  corrupt  taste  so  beclouds  our  eyes, 
that  we  almost  need  a  new  creation  to  extricate  us 
from  this  darkness. 

"  All  French  writers,  and  Germans  infected  with 
French  taste,  even  Wieland,  have  in  this  matter,  as  in 
several  others,  done  themselves  little  credit.  Voltaire, 
who  from  the  first  made  a  profession  of  vilifying  every- 
tliing  majestic,  has  here  also  shown  himself  a  genuine 
Thersites,  If  I  were  Ulysses,  his  back  should  writhe 
under  my  sceptre.  Most  of  these  critics  object  espe- 
cially to  Shakespeare's  characters.  And  I  cry,  nature, 
nature!  notliiug  so  natural  as  Shakespeare's  men. 

"  There  I  have  them  all  by  the  neck.  Give  me  air 
that  I  may  speak  !  He  rivalled  Prometheus,  and  formed 
his  men  feature  liy  feature,  only  of  colossal  size  ;  tlierein 
lies  the  reason  that  we  do  not  recognise  our  brethren  ; 
and  tli'-ii   he  animated  them   with  the   breath   of  his 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  133 

mind ;  he  speaks  in  all  of  them,  and  we  perceive  their 
relationship. 

"  And  how  shall  our  age  form  a  judgment  as  to  what 
is  natural  ?  Whence  can  we  be  supposed  to  know 
nature,  we  who,  from  youth  upward,  feel  everything 
within  us,  and  see  everything  in  others,  laced  up  and 
decorated  ?  I  am  often  ashamed  before  Shakespeare, 
for  it  often  happens  that  at  the  first  glance  I  think  to 
myself  I  should  have  done  that  differently ;  but  soon 
I  perceive  that  I  am  a  poor  sinner,  that  nature  proph- 
esies through  Shakespeare,  and  that  my  men  are  soap- 
bubbles  blown  from  romantic  fancies. 

"  And  now  to  conclude,  —  though  I  have  not  yet 
begun.  What  noble  philosophers  have  said  of  the 
world,  applies  also  to  Shakespeare ;  —  namely,  that 
what  we  call  evil  is  only  the  other  side,  and  belongs 
as  necessarily  to  its  existence  and  to  the  Whole,  as  the 
torrid  zone  must  burn  and  Lapland  freeze,  in  order  that 
there  may  be  a  temperate  region.  He  leads  us  through 
the  whole  world,  but  we,  enervated,  inexperienced  men, 
cry  at  every  strange  grasshopper  that  meets  us :  He 
will  devour  us. 

"  Up,  gentlemen !  sound  the  alarm  to  all  noble  souls 
who  are  in  the  elysium  of  so-called  good  taste,  where 
drowsy  in  tedious  twilight  they  are  half  alive,  half  not 
alive,  with  passions  in  their  hearts  and  no  marrow  in 
their  bones ;  and  because  they  are  not  tired  enough  to 
sleep,  and  yet  are  too  idle  to  be  active,  loiter  and  yawn 
away  their  shadowy  life  between  myrtle  and  laurel 
bushes." 

In  these  accents  we  hear  the  voice  of  the  youth  who 
wrote  "  Gotz  with  the  Iron  Hand."  If  the  reader  turn 
to  the  Autobiography  and  see  there  what  is  said  of 
Shakespeare,  he  will  be  able  to  appreciate  what  I 
meant  in  saying  that  the  tone  of  the  Autobiography  is 
unlike  the  reahty.     The  tone  of  this  speech  is  that  of 


134  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

the  famous  Sturm  und  Drang  (Storm  and  Stress)  period, 
which  iu  after  life  became  so  very  objectionable  to  him. 
How  differently  Schiller  was  affected  by  Shakespeare 
may  be  read  in  the  following  confession:  "When  at 
an  early  age  I  first  grew  acquainted  with  this  poet,  I 
was  indignant  at  his  coldness  —  indignant  with  the 
insensibility  which  allowed  him  to  jest  and  sport 
amidst  the  highest  pathos.  Led  by  my  knowledge  of 
more  modern  poets  to  seek  the  poet  in  his  works ;  to 
meet  and  sympathise  with  his  heart;  to  reflect  with 
him  over  his  object ;  it  was  insufferable  to  me  that 
this  poet  gave  me  nothing  of  himself.  Many  years 
had  he  my  reverence  —  certainly  my  earnest  study, 
before  I  could  comprehend  his  individuahty.  I  was 
not  yet  fit  to  comprehend  nature  at  first  hand." 

The  enthusiasm  for  Shakespeare  naturally  excited 
Goethe  to  dramatic  composition,  and,  besides  "Gotz" 
and  "  Faust,"  before  mentioned,  we  find  in  his  Note- 
book the  commencement  of  a  drama  on  "  Julius 
Cffisar." 

Three  forms  rise  up  from  out  the  many  influences 
of  Strasburg  into  distinct  and  memorable  importance : 
Frederika;  Herder;  the  Cathedral.  An  exquisite 
woman,  a  noble  thinker,  and  a  splendid  monument, 
led  him  into  the  regions  of  Passion,  Poetry,  and  Art. 
The  influence  of  the  Cathedral  was  gi-eat  enough  to 
make  him  write  the  little  tractate  on  German  archi- 
tecture, "  D.  M.  Erwini  a  Steinbach,"  with  an  enthusi- 
asm so  incoinpreliensible  to  him  in  after  years,  that  he 
was  with  ditliculty  persuaded  to  reprint  the  tractate 
among  his  works.  Do  we  not  see  here  —  as  m  so 
luiuiy  other  traits  —  how  diiTerent  the  youth  is  from 
the  child  or  man  ? 

How  thoroughly  he  had  entered  into  the  spirit  of 
(iothic  architecture  is  indicated  by  the  following  ancc- 
ilote.  In  company  with  some  friends  lie  was  admiring 
the  Strasburg  Cathedral,  when  one  remarked,  "  What  a 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  135 

pity  it  was  not  finished,  and  that  there  should  be  only 
one  steeple  ! "  Upon  this  he  answered,  "  It  is  a  matter 
of  equal  regret  to  me  to  see  this  solitary  steeple  unfin- 
ished ;  the  four  spiral  staircases  leave  off  too  abruptly 
at  the  top;  they  ought  to  have  been  surmounted  by 
four  light  pinnacles,  with  a  higher  one  rising  in  the 
centre  instead  of  the  clumsy  mass."  Some  one,  turn- 
ing round  to  him,  asked  him  who  told  him  that  ? 
"  The  tower  itself,"  he  answered ;  "  I  have  studied  it 
so  long,  so  attentively,  and  with  so  much  love,  that 
it  has  at  last  confessed  to  me  its  open  secret."  Where- 
upon his  questioner  informed  him  that  the  tower  had 
spoken  truly,  and  offered  to  show  him  the  original 
sketches,  which  still  existed  among  the  archives. 

Inasmuch  as  in  England  many  professed  admirers 
of  architecture  appear  imperfectly  acquainted  with  the 
history  of  the  revival  of  the  taste  for  Gothic  art,  it  may 
not  be  superfluous  to  call  attention  to  the  fact  that 
Goethe  was  among  the  very  first  to  recognise  the  pe- 
culiar beauty  of  that  style,  at  a  period  when  classical, 
or  pseudo-classical,  taste  was  everywhere  dominant. 
It  appears  that  he  was  in  friendly  correspondence  with 
Sulpiz  Boisser^e,  the  artist  who  made  the  restored 
design  of  the  Cologne  Cathedral ;  from  whom  he  doubt- 
less learned  much.  And  we  see  by  the  "  Wahlverwandt- 
schaften  "  that  he  had  a  portfolio  of  designs  illustrative 
of  the  principle  of  the  pointed  style.  This  was  in 
1809,  when  scarcely  any  one  thought  of  the  Gothic; 
long  before  Victor  Hugo  had  written  his  "Notre 
Dame  de  Paris ; "  long  before  Pugin  and  Ptuskiu  had 
thrown  their  impassioned  energy  into  this  revival ;  at 
a  time  when  the  Church  in  Langham  Place  was 
thought  beautiful,  and  the  Temple  Church  an  eyesore. 

And  now  he  was  to  leave  Strasburg,  —  to  leave 
Frederika.  Much  as  her  presence  had  troubled  him 
of  late,  in  her  absence  he  only  thought  of  her  fascina- 
tions.    He   had    not   ceased    to  love  her,  though  he 


136  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

already  felt  she  never  would  be  his.  He  went  to  say- 
adieu.  "  Those  were  painful  days,  of  which  I  remem- 
ber nothing.  When  1  held  out  my  hand  to  her  from 
my  horse,  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes,  and  I  felt  sad  at 
heart.  As  I  rode  along  the  footpath  to  Drusenheim 
a  strange  phantasy  took  hold  of  me.  I  saw  in  my 
mind's  eye  my  own  figure  riding  toward  me,  attired 
in  a  dress  I  had  never  worn  —  pike  gray  with  gold 
lace.  I  shook  off  this  phantasy,  but  eight  years  after- 
ward I  found  myself  on  the  very  road,  going  to  visit 
Frederika,  and  that  too  in  the  very  dress  which  I  had 
seen  myself  in,  in  this  phantasm,  although  my  wearing 
it  was  quite  accidental."  The  reader  will  probably  be 
somewhat  skeptical  respecting  the  dress,  and  will  sup- 
pose that  this  prophetic  detail  was  afterward  trans- 
ferred to  the  vision  by  the  imagination  of  later  years.^ 
And  so  farewell,  Frederika,  bright  and  exquisite 
vision  of  a  poet's  youth  !  We  love  you,  pity  you,  and 
think  how  differently  we  should  have  treated  you! 
We  make  pilgrimages  to  Sesenheim  as  to  Vaucluse, 
and  write  legibly  our  names  in  the  Visitors'  Album, 
to  testify  so  much.  And  we  read,  not  without  emo- 
tion, narratives  such  as  that  of  the  worthy  philologist 
Niike,  who  in  1822  made  the  first  pilgrimage,^  think- 
ing, as  he  went,  of  this  enchanting  Frederika  {and 
somewhat  also  of  a  private  Frederika  of  his  own), 
examined  every  rood  of  the  ground,  dined  meditatively 
at  the  inn  (with  a  passing  reflection  that  the  bill  was 
larger  than  he  anticipated),  took  coflee  with  the  pas- 
tor's successor ;  and,  with  a  sentiment  touching  in  a 
philologist,  bore  away  a  sprig  of  the  jessamine  which 
in  days  gone  by  had  been  tended  by  the  white  hands 
of  Frederika,  and  placed  it  in  his  pocketbook  as  an 
imperishable  souvenir. 

*  The  correspondence  with  the  Fran  von  Stein  contains  a  letter 
written  by  him  a  day  or  two  after  this  visit,  but,  singularly 
enough.  ni>  mention  of  this  coincidence. 

2"  Die  WiiUfalirt  nach  ISeseuhoim." 


Book  the  Third 


1771   to   1775 

"  Es  bildet  ein  Talent,  sich  in  der  Stille, 
Sich  ein  Charakter  in  dem  Strom  der  Welt." 

"  Trunken  miissen  wir  alle  seyn  : 
Jugend  ist  Trunkeuheit  olme  Wain." 

"  They  say  best  men  are  moulded  out  of  faults, 
And,  for  the  most,  become  much  more  the  better 
For  being  a  little  bad."  —  Shakespeare. 


137 


CHAPTER  I. 

DOCTOR  GOETHE'S  RETURN. 

Ox  the  25th  or  28th  of  August,  1771,  he  quitted 
Strasburg.  His  way  led  through  Mannheim ;  and 
there  he  was  first  thrilled  by  the  beauty  of  ancient 
masterpieces,  some  of  which  he  saw  in  plaster  cast. 
Whatever  might  be  his  predilection  for  Gothic  art,  he 
could  not  view  these  casts  without  feehng  himself  in 
presence  of  an  Art  in  its  way  also  divine ;  and  his 
previous  study  of  Lessing  lent  a  peculiar  interest  to 
the  Laocoon  gi'oup,  now  before  his  eyes. 

Passing  on  to  Mainz,  he  fell  in  with  a  young 
wandering  harpist,  and  invited  the  ragged  minstrel 
to  Frankfort,  promising  him  a  public  in  the  Fair,  and 
a  lodging  in  his  father's  house.  It  was  lucky  that  he 
thought  of  acquainting  his  mother  with  this  invitation. 
Alarmed  at  its  imprudence,  she  secured  a  lodging  in 
the  town,  and  so  the  boy  wanted  neither  shelter  nor 
patronage. 

Rath  Goethe  was  not  a  little  proud  of  the  young 
Doctor.  He  was  also  not  a  little  disturbed  by  the 
young  doctor's  manners ;  and  often  shook  his  ancient 
respectable  head  at  the  opinions  which  exploded  like 
bombshells  in  the  midst  of  society.  Doctoral  gravity 
was  but  slightly  attended  to  by  this  young  hero  of 
the  Sturm  und  Drang.  The  revolutionary  movement 
known  by  the  title  of  the  "  Storm  and  Stress "  was 
then  about  to  astonish  Germany,  and  to  startle  all 
conventions,  by  works    such    as  Gerstenberg's  "  Ugo- 

139 


I40  LIFE   AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

lino,"  Goethe's  "  Gotz  von  Berlichingen,"  and  Klinger's 
"  Sturm  uud  Drang  "  (whence  the  name).  The  wisdom 
and  extravagance  of  that  age  united  in  one  stream: 
the  masterly  criticisms  of  Lessing,  —  the  enthusiasm 
for  Shakespeare,  —  the  mania  for  Ossian  and  the 
northern  mythology,  —  the  revival  of  ballad  litera- 
ture,   and  imitations  of  Eousseau,  all  worked  in  one 

rebeihous  current  against  estabhshed  Authority.  There 
was  one  universal  shout  for  Nature.  With  the  young, 
Nature  seemed  to  be  a  compound  of  volcanoes  and 
moonlight ;  her  force,  explosion,  her  beauty,  sentiment. 
To  be  insurgent  and  sentimental,  explosive  and  lachry- 
mose, were  the  true  signs  of  genius.  Everything  estab- 
lished was  humdrum.  Genius,  abhorrent  of  humdrum, 
would  neither  spell  correctly,  nor  write  correctly,  nor 
demean  itself  correctly.  It  would  be  German  —  law- 
less, rude,  and  natural.  Lawless  it  was,  and  rude  it 
was,  but  not  natural,  according  to  Nature  of  any 
reputable  type. 

It  is  not  easy,  in  the  pages  of  the  Autobiography, 
to  detect  in  Goethe  an  early  leader  of  the  Sturm  und 
Drang ;  "  but  it  is  easy  enough  to  detect  this  in  other 
sources.  Here  is  a  ghmpse,  m  a  letter  from  Mayer  of 
Lindau  (one  of  the  Strasburg  set)  to  Salzmann,  worth 
chapters  of  the  Autobiography  on  such  a  point.  "  0 
Cori/don,  Corydon,  qum  te  dementia  cepit !  According 
to  the  chain  in  which  our  ideas  are  linked  together, 
Corydon  and  dementia  put  me  in  mind  of  the  extrava- 
gant Goethe.     He  is  still  at  Frankfort,  is  he  not  ? " 

That  such  a  youth,  whose  wildiiess  made  friends 
nickname  him  the  "  bear  "  and  the  "  wolf,"  could  have 
been  wholly  pleasing  to  his  steady,  formal  father,  is 
not  to  be  expected.  Yet  the  worthy  sire  was  not 
a  little  proud  of  his  son's  attainments.  The  verses, 
essays,  notes,  and  drawings  which  had  accunnilated 
during  the  residence  in  Strasburg  were  very  gratifying 
to  liim.     He  began  to  arrange  them  with  scrupulous 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  141 

neatness,  hoping  to  see  them  shortly  published.  But 
the  poet  had  a  virtue,  perhaps  of  all  virtues  the  rarest 
in  youthful  writers,  —  a  reluctance  to  appear  in  print. 
Seeing,  as  we  daily  see,  the  feverish  alacrity  with 
which  men  accede  to  that  extremely  imaginary  re- 
quest, "  request  of  friends,"  and  dauntlessly  rush  into 
print,  —  seeing  the  obstinacy  with  which  they  chng 
to  all  they  have  written,  and  insist  on  what  they  have 
written  being  printed,  —  Goethe's  reluctance  demands 
an  explanation.  And  if  I  may  interpret  according 
to  my  own  experience,  the  explanation  is  that  his 
delight  in  composition  was  rather  the  pure  delight 
of  intellectual  activity,  than  a  delight  in  the  result : 
delight,  not  in  the  work,  but  in  the  working.  Thus  no 
sooner  had  he  finished  a  poem  than  his  interest  in  it 
began  to  fade ;  and  he  passed  on  to  another.  Hence 
it  was  that  he  left  so  many  works  fragments,  his  inter- 
est having  been  exhausted  before  each  whole  was 
completed. 

He  had  a  small  circle  of  hterary  friends  to  whom 
he  communicated  his  productions,  and  this  was  pubh- 
cation  enough  for  him.  We  shall  see  him  hereafter 
in  Weimar,  wTiting  solely  for  a  circle  of  friends  and 
troubling  himself  scarcely  at  all  about  a  public.  It 
was  necessary  for  him  to  occupy  himself  with  some 
work  which  should  absorb  him  as  "  Gotz "  did  at  this 
time,  for  only  in  work  could  he  forget  the  pain,  almost 
remorse,  which  followed  his  renunciation  of  Frederika. 
If  at  Strasburg  he  had  felt  that  an  end  was  approach- 
ing to  this  sweet  romance,  at  Frankfort,  among  family 
connections,  and  with  new  prospects  widening  before 
him,  he  felt  it  still  more.  He  wrote  to  her.  Unhap- 
pily that  letter  is  not  preserved.  It  would  have  made 
clear  much  that  is  now  conjectural.  "  Frederika's 
answer,"  he  says,  "  to  the  letter  in  which  I  had  bidden 
her  adieu,  tore  my  heart.  I  now,  for  the  first  time, 
became  aware  of  her  bereavement,  and  saw  no  possi- 


142  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

bilit  V  of  alleviating  it.  She  was  ever  in  my  thoughts ;  I 
felt  that  she  was  wanting  to  me ;  and,  worst  of  all, 
I  could  not  forgive  myself !  Gretchen  had  been  taken 
from  me ;  Annchen  had  left  me ;  but  now,  for  the  first 
time,  I  was  guilty ;  I  had  wounded,  to  its  very  depths, 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  tender  of  hearts.  And 
that  period  of  gloomy  repentance,  bereft  of  the  love 
which  had  so  invigorated  me,  was  agonising,  insupport- 
able. But  man  will  live ;  and  hence  I  took  a  sincere 
interest  in  others,  seeking  to  disentangle  their  embar- 
rassments, and  to  unite  those  about  to  part,  that  they 
might  not  feel  what  I  felt.  Hence  I  got  the  name  of 
the  '  Confidant,'  and  also,  on  account  of  my  wanderings, 
I  was  named  the  '  Wanderer.'  Under  the  broad  open 
sky,  on  the  heights  or  in  the  valleys,  in  the  fields 
and  through  the  woods,  my  mind  regained  some  of 
its  calmness.  I  almost  hved  on  the  road,  wandering 
between  the  mountains  and  the  plains.  Often  I  went, 
alone  or  in  company,  right  through  my  native  city, 
as  though  I  were  a  stranger  in  it,  dining  at  one  of  the 
great  inns  in  the  High  Street,  and  after  dinner  pursu- 
ing my  way.  I  turned  more  than  ever  to  the  open 
world  and  to  Nature ;  there  alone  I  found  comfort. 
During  my  walks  I  sang  to  myself  strange  hymns  and 
dithyrambs.  One  of  these,  the  '  Wanderer's  Sturmhed,' 
still  remains.  I  remember  singing  it  aloud  in  an 
impassioned  style  amid  a  terrific  storm.  The  burden 
of  this  rhapsody  is  that  a  man  of  genius  must  walk 
resolutely  through  the  storms  of  life,  relying  solely  on 
himself ; "  a  burden  which  seems  to  give  expression  to 
what  lie  then  felt  respecting  liis  relation  to  Frederika. 

AlLliough  we  have  no  exact  knowledge  of  the  cir- 
cumstances from  the  height  of  which  to  judge  his 
conduct,  the  (juestion  must  be  put,  Why  did  he  not 
marry  Frederika  ?  It  is  a  question  often  raised,  and 
as  often  .sopliistically  answered.  I'y  one  party  he  is 
angrily  condenmed  ;  disingenuously  absolved  by  another. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  143 

But  be  himself  acknowledged  his  fault.  He  himself 
never  put  forth  any  excuse.  He  does  not  hint  at 
disparity  of  station,  he  does  not  say  there  were  objec- 
tions from  his  parents.  He  makes  no  excuse,  but 
confesses  the  wrong,  and  blames  himself  without 
sophistication.  Yet  the  excuses  he  would  not  suggest, 
partisans  have  been  eager  to  suggest  for  him.  Some 
have  sought  far  and  w^ide  in  the  gutters  of  scandal  for 
materials  of  defence.  One  gets  up  a  story  about 
Frederika  being  seduced  by  a  Catholic  priest ;  whence 
it  is  argued  that  Goethe  could  not  be  expected  to 
marry  one  so  frail ;  whence  also  it  follows,  by  way  of 
counterblast,  that  it  was  his  desertion  which  caused 
her  fall.i  The  basis  of  fact  on  which  this  He  is  reared 
(there  is  usually  some  basis,  even  for  the  wildest  hes) 
is  that  Frederika  brought  up  the  orphan  child  of  her 
sister  Salome. 

Let  me  endeavour,  without  sophistication,  to  state 
the  real  case,  at  least  as  far  as  the  imperfect  evidence 
admits  of  a  judgment.  It  seems  always  to  have  been 
forgotten  by  the  many  writers  who  have  discussed  this 
topic,  that  our  judgment  is  misled  by  the  artistic 
charm  which  Goethe  has  thrown  over  the  narrative : 
we  fail  to  separate  the  Fact  from  the  Fiction :  we  read 
the  poem  he  has  made  out  of  his  early  experience,  and 
read  it  as  if  the  poem  were  an  unvarnished  record  of 
that  experience.  He  has  painted  Frederika  so  charm- 
ingly ;  he  has  told  the  story  of  their  simple  youthful 
love  with  so  much  grace,  and  quiet  emotion ;  he  has 
captivated  us  so  entirely  by  the  Idyl,  that  our  feelings 
are  rudely  disturbed  when  we  find  the  Idyl  is  not  to 
end  in  a  marriage. 

But  if  we  consider  the  case  calmly,  divesting  it  as 
much  as  possible  of  illusive  suggestions,  we  may,  per- 
haps, come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  after  all  only 

1  Strangely  enough,  although  Goethe  read  the  MS.  in  which 
Nake  repeats  this  story,  he  takes  no  notice  of  it. 


144  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

a  "  love-affair  "  between  a  boy  and  a  girl,  a  temporary 
fascination,  such  as  often  stirs  the  affections  of  youth 
without  deepening  into  serious  thought  of  marriage. 
Doubtless  the  reader  can  from  his  or  her  own  history 
rapidly  recall  such  an  experience ;  certainly  the  expe- 
rience of  their  friends  will  supply  such  cases.  If  we 
read  the  story  in  this  hght  all  is  clear.  The  boy  and 
girl  are  fascinated  by  each  other ;  they  look  into  each 
other's  eyes,  and  are  happy ;  they  walk  together,  talk 
together,  and,  when  separated,  think  of  each  other.  But 
they  never  think  of  marriage  ;  or  tliink  of  it  vaguely  as  a 
remote  contingency.  Young  love's  dream  is  enough 
for  them.  They  are  pained  at  parting;  perhaps  all 
the  more  so,  because  they  dimly  feel  that  the  awaken- 
ing is  at  hand.  But  there  is  a  sort  of  tacit  understand- 
ing that  marriage  is  not  the  issue  to  be  looked  for. 
Had  any  one  hinted  to  either  Goethe  or  Frederika 
that  their  passion  was  but  a  "  youthful  stirring  of  the 
blood,"  and  not  an  eternal  union  of  souls,  they  would 
assuredly  have  resented  it  with  emphatic  denial.  Yet 
so  it  was.  Goethe  soon  consoled  himself ;  and  there 
is  positive  evidence  that  Frederika,  shortly  afterward, 
allowed  herself  to  be  consoled  by  Lenz. 

Such,  after  mature  deliberation,  I  believe  to  have 
been  the  real  story.  When  Goethe,  reviewing  in  old 
age  the  pleasant  dreams  of  youth,  and  weaving  them 
into  an  artistic  narrative,  avowedly  half  fiction,  came 
to  that  episode  with  Frederika,  he  thought  of  it  as  we 
all  think  of  our  early  loves,  with  a  mingled  tenderness 
and  pain ;  his  imagination  was  kindled,  and  he  turned 
his  experience  into  an  Idyl.  But  the  fact  thus  ideal- 
ised was  a  very  ordinary  fact ;  the  story  thus  poetised 
was  a  very  common  story,  and  could  be  told  by  ninety 
out  of  every  hundred  students,  who  do  not  marry  the 
idol  of  the  last  university  term.  Tliat  Goethe,  with  his 
affectionate  sensitive  nature,  was  for  a  time  in  love 
with    Frederika,   is   cei-tain.     It  is    also   certain   that. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  145 

whatever  the  agitation  of  his  feeliugs,  they  were  not 
deeply  moved :  she  had  laid  no  firm  hold  of  his  soul : 
there  were  none  of  those  ties  between  them  which 
grow  stronger  \vith  advancing  time. 

No  sooner  had  he  made  this  decisively  clear  to  him- 
self, than  he  wrote  to  Frederika  to  tell  her  so.  No 
woman  can  be  given  up  without  feeling  pain,  and 
probably  Frederika's  affections  were  far  more  deeply 
engaged  than  his  were ;  nevertheless,  in  spite  of  the 
pain  she  doubtless  felt,  and  pathetically  expressed  in 
her  letter  to  him,  we  find  her  presently  engaged  in 
another  "  love-affair,"  with  the  -poet  Lenz,  which, 
though  it  ended  in  a  breach,  certainly  went  so  far  as 
the  exchange  of  vows ;  and,  according  to  Lenz,  the 
growth  of  the  passion  was  rapid.  "  It  was  with  us 
both,"  ho  writes  to  his  friend,  "  as  with  Caesar :  veni, 
vidi,  vici.  Through  unconscious  causes  grew  our  con- 
fidence—  and  now  it  is  sworn,  and  indissoluble." 
When,  in  after  years,  Goethe  visited  Frederika,  she  — 
having  long  given  up  Lenz,  whose  madness  must 
have  made  her  rejoice  in  her  escape  —  told  him  of 
Lenz  having  pretended  to  be  in  love  with  her,  but 
omitted  to  say  anything  about  her  own  reciprocity ; 
and  she  omitted  this  from  motives  which  every  woman 
will  appreciate.  But  however  obscure  the  story  may 
be,  it  seems  certain  that  at  least  for  a  short  time  she 
believed  in  and  to  some  extent  returned  Lenz's  passion.^ 

After  this  exposition  of  what  I  conceive  to  be  the 
real  case,  it  will  be  easy  to  answer  the  outcry  of  the 
sentimentalists  against  Goethe's  "  faithlessness "  and 
his  "  cruel  treatment  of  Frederika,"  without  recurring 
to  the  excuses  sometimes  put  forth,  that  to  have  been 
faithful  to  her  he  must  have  been  faithless  to  his 
genius,  or  that  it  was  better  one  M'oman's  heart  should 
be  broken  (which  it  was  iiot)  than  that  the  poet's  ex- 

iFor  full  details  see  Gruppe  :  "Reinhold  Lenz,  Leben  und 
Werke,"  1861,  pp.  11,  s?. 


146  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

perience  should  be  narrowed  within  the  small  circle  of 
domestic  hfe.     It  is  a  mistake  to  speak  of  faithlessness 
at  all.     We  may  regret  that  he  did  not  feel  the  serious 
affection  which  would  have   claimed  her   as  a  wife ; 
we  may  upbraid    him   for    the    thoughtlessness    with 
which  he  encouraged  the  sentimental  relation :  but  he 
was  perfectly  right  to  draw  back  from  an  engagement 
which  he  felt  his  love  was  not  strong  enough  properly 
to  fulfil.     It  seems  to  me  that  he  acted  a  more  moral 
part  in  rehnquishing  her,  than  if  he  had  swamped  this 
lesser  in  a  greater  wrong,  and  escaped  one  breach  of 
faith  by  a  still  greater  breach  of  faith  —  a  reluctant, 
because  unloving,   marriage.     The  thoughtlessness  of 
youth  and  the  headlong  impetus  of  passion  frequently 
throw  people  into   rash   engagements;    and   in    these 
cases  the  formal  morality  of  the  world,  more  careful 
of  externals  than  of  the  soul,  declares  it  to  be  nobler 
for  such  rash  engagements  to  be  kept,  even  when  the 
rashness  is   felt  by   the    engaged,  than  that  a   man's 
honour  should  be  stained  by  a  withdrawal.     The  letter 
thus  takes  precedence  of  the  spirit.     To  satisfy  this 
prejudice  a  life  is  sacrificed.     A  miserable   marriage 
rescues  the  honour ;  and  no  one  throws  the  burden  of 
that  misery  upon  the  prejudice.     I  am  not  forgetting 
the  necessity  of  being   stringent  against  the  common 
thoughtlessness  of  youth   in   forming    such   relations; 
but  I  say  that  this  thoughtlessness   once  having  oc- 
curred,  reprobate    it   as    we    may,  the  pain   which   a 
separation    may  bring    had    better    be    endured,  than 
evaded  by  an  unholy  marriage,  which  cannot  come  to 
good. 

Frederika  herself  must  have  felt  so,  too,  for  never 
did  a  word  of  blame  escape  her ;  and  we  shall  see  how 
affectionately  she  welcomed  him,  when  they  met  after 
tlii^  lapse  of  years.  This,  however,  does  not  absolve 
him  from  the  blame  of  having  thoughtlessly  incurred 
the  responsibility   of    her   affection.     That  blame   he 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  147 

must  bear.  Tlie  reader  will  apportion  it  according  as 
he  estimates  the  excuses  of  temperament,  and  the 
common  thoughtlessness  of  men  in  such  matters. 

Although  I  think  Goethe's  conduct  in  this  matter 
perfectly  upright,  and  justifiable  from  a  far  more 
serious  point  of  view  than  that  of  being  faithful  to  his 
genius,  I  am  not  at  all  disposed  to  acquiesce  in  the 
assumption  that  marriage  with  Frederika  would  have 
crippled  his  genius  by  narrowing  his  sympathies.  The 
cause  of  his  rehnquishing  her  was  the  want  of  a 
sufficiently  powerful  love ;  and  that  also  is  his  justifi- 
cation. Had  he  loved  her  enough  to  share  a  life  with 
her,  his  experience  of  woman  might  have  been  less 
extensive,  but  it  would  assuredly  have  gained  an 
element  it  wanted.  It  would  have  been  deepened. 
He  had  experienced,  and  he  could  paint  (no  one  better), 
the  exquisite  devotion  of  woman  to  man ;  but  he  had 
scarcely  ever  felt  the  peculiar  tenderness  of  man  for 
woman,  when  that  tenderness  takes  the  form  of  vigi- 
lant protecting  fondness.  He  knew  little,  and  that 
not  until  late  in  life,  of  the  subtle  interweaving  of 
habit  with  affection,  which  makes  life  saturated  with 
love,  and  love  itself  become  dignified  through  the 
serious  aims  of  life.  He  knew  little  of  the  exquisite 
companionship  of  two  souls  striving  in  emulous  spirit 
of  loving  rivalry  to  become  better,  to  become  wiser, 
teaching  each  other  to  soar.  He  knew  little  of  this ; 
and  the  kiss  he  feared  to  press  upon  the  loving  lips 
of  Frederika  —  the  Kfe  of  sympathy  he  refused  to 
share  with  her  —  are  wanting  to  the  fulness  of  his  art. 

In  such  a  mood  as  that  which  followed  the  rupture 
with  Frederika,  it  is  not  wonderful  if  Frankfort  and 
the  practice  of  law  were  odious  to  him.  Nothing  but 
hard  work  could  do  him  good :  and  he  worked  hard. 
From  the  Herder  Correspondence  it  appears  that  he 
read   Greek    writers  with  some  eagerness,  his  letters 


148  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

being  studded  with  citations  from  Plato,  Homer,  and 
Pindar.  Die  Griechen  sind  mein  einzigcs  Studium  (I 
study  nothing  but  the  Greeks),  he  says.  We  find  him 
also  working  at  "  Gotz  von  Berlichingen."  Gothic 
Art,  a  kindred  subject,  occupies  him,  and  from  thence, 
by  an  easy  transition,  he  passes  to  the  Bible,  to  study 
it  anew.  The  results  of  this  study  are  seen  in  two 
little  tractates  published  in    1773,  one  called  "Brief 

des  Pastors  zu an  den  neuen   Pastor  zu ; " 

the  other,  "  Zwei  wichtige  bisher  unerortete  biblische 
Fragen,  zum  ersten  Mai  gi-undlich  beantwortet  von 
eiuem  Landgeisthchen  in  Schwaben."  The  influence  of 
Friiulein  von  Klettenberg  is  traceable  in  the  religious 
tone  of  these  works ;  while  his  own  affectionate  nature 
speaks  in  the  tolerance  preached.  Of  the  two  Biblical 
questions,  one  goes  to  prove  that  it  was  not  the  ten 
commandments  which  stood  on  the  tables  of  Moses, 
but  ten  laws  of  the  Israelitish- Jehovah  covenant.  The 
second  is  an  answer,  by  no  means  clear,  to  the  ques- 
tion :  "  What  is  it  to  speak  with  tongues  ? "  which  he 
explains  as  a  "  speech  of  the  Spirit,  more  than  panto- 
mime, and  yet  inarticulate." 

Among  the  friends  to  whom  he  communicated  his 
plans  and  ideas,  two  must  be  named :  Schlosser,  whom 
we  have  seen  at  Leipsic,  and  Merck,  whose  influence 
was  very  beneficial.  The  portrait  sketched  of  this 
remarkable  man  in  the  Autobiography  gives  a  very 
incorrect  idea  to  those  who  cannot  control  what  is 
there  said  by  other  direct  evidence ;  especially  cal- 
culated to  mislead  is  the  nickname  "  ]\Ie})histopheles 
Merck : "  for  whatever  tendency  to  sarcasm  Merck 
may  have  indulged  in,  it  is  quite  clear  that  his  admi- 
ration was  generous  and  warm,  his  influence  over 
Goethe  being  uniformly  one  of  friendly  incitement,  or 
of  friendly  warning. 

Johann    Ileinrich    Merck   was  born    in    Parmstadt, 
1741.     The  sou  of  an  apothecary,  he  raised  himself  to 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  149 

the  companionship  of  princes.  He  was  at  this  time 
Kricgsrath  in  Darmstadt,  and  in  correspondence  with 
most  of  the  notabihties  of  the  day ;  among  them 
Herder,  who  had  the  highest  opinion  of  his  abiHties, 
and  the  most  jealous  anxiety  to  retain  his  friendship, 
fearing  lest  the  new  friendship  with  Goethe  should  step 
between  them ;  as,  indeed,  eventually  it  did.  Merck, 
whose  significance  in  the  history  of  German  literature 
is  considerable,  and  whose  correspondence  shows  him 
to  have  critically  influenced  men  greatly  his  superiors 
in  production,  was  one  of  the  most  zealous  propa- 
gators of  English  literature.  He  began  by  translating 
Hutcheson  "  On  Beauty,"  Addison's  "  Cato,"  and  Shaw's 
"  Travels  in  the  Levant."  The  Shakespeare  neophytes 
found  him  prepared  to  share  their  enthusiasm ;  and 
when,  in  1772,  he  persuaded  Schlosser  to  undertake 
the  editing  of  the  Franhfurter  Gelehrten  Anzeigen,  and 
to  make  it  the  Moniteur  of  the  Sturm  tend  Drang 
party,  his  own  contributions  were  numerous  and 
valuable.^  His  official  duties  do  not  seem  to  have 
pressed  very  heavily  upon  him,  for  he  made  frequent 
excursions,  and  seems  to  have  stayed  some  time  at 
Frankfort.  The  friendship  between  him  and  Goethe 
was  warm.  He  saw  more  deeply  than  Herder  into 
this  singular  genius,  and  on  many  critical  occasions  we 
find  him  always  manifesting  a  clear  insight  and  a 
real  regard. 

The  Frankfurter  Gelehrten  Anzeigen  was  a  point  of 
reunion,  bringing  Goethe  into  relation  with  many  per- 
sons of  ability.  It  also  afforded  him  an  opportunity 
of  exercising  himself  in  criticism.  Thirty -five  of  the 
articles  he  wrote  for  this  journal  have  been  collected 
into  his  works,  where  the  curious  student  will  seek 
them.  In  these  studies  the  time  flew  swiftly.  He 
had  recommenced  horse  and  sword  exercise,  and  Klop- 

^See  for  further  information  the  work  of  Stahr  :  "Johauu 
Heinrich  Merck  :  Ein  Deukmal." 


150  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

stock  having  made  skating  illustrious,  it  soon  became  an 
amusement  of  wliich  he  was  never  tired ;  all  day  long, 
and  deep  into  the  night,  he  was  to  be  seen  wheeUng 
along ;  and  as  the  full  moon  rose  above  the  clouds 
over  the  wide  nocturnal  fields  of  ice,  and  the  night 
wind  rushed  at  his  face,  and  the  echo  of  his  movements 
came  with  ghostly  sound  upon  his  ear,  he  seemed  to  be 
in  Ossian's  world.  Indoors  there  were  studies  and 
music.  "  Will  you  ask  my  violoncello  master,"  he 
wTites  to  Salzmann,  "  if  he  still  has  the  sonatas  for 
two  basses,  which  I  played  with  him,  and  if  so,  send 
them  to  me  as  quickly  as  convenient  ?  I  practise  this 
art  somewhat  more  earnestly  than  before.  As  to 
my  other  occupations,  you  will  have  gathered  from  my 
drama  ('  Gotz '),  that  the  purposes  of  my  soul  are 
becoming  more  earnest." 

It  has  before  been  hinted  that  Sturm  und  Drang, 
as  it  manifested  itself  in  the  mind  and  bearing  of  the 
young  doctor,  was  but  very  moderately  agreeable  to 
the  old  Rath  Goethe  ;  and  whatever  sympathy  we  may 
feel  with  the  poet,  yet,  as  we  are  all  parents,  or  hope 
to  be,  let  us  not  permit  our  sympathy  to  become 
injustice ;  let  us  admit  that  the  old  Rath  had  consider- 
able cause  for  parental  uneasiness,  and  let  us  follow 
the  son  to  Wetzlar  without  flinging  any  hard  words  at 
his  father. 


CHAPTER   11. 

GOTZ  VON   BERLICHINGEN. 

Although  "  Gotz "  was  not  published  until  the 
summer  of  1773,  it  was  written  in  the  winter  of  1771, 
or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  the  first  of  the  three 
versions  into  which  the  work  was  shaped  was  written 
at  this  time.  We  must  bear  in  mind  that  there  are 
three  versions ;  the  first  is  entitled  the  "  Geschichte 
Gottfriedens  von  Berlichiugen  mit  der  eisernen  Hand, 
dramatisirt,"  ^  which  was  not  published  until  very 
many  years  afterward.  The  second  is  entitled  "  Gotz 
von  Berlichingen,  Schauspiel,"  ^  and  is  the  form  in 
which  the  work  was  originally  published.  The  third 
is  an  adaptation  of  this  second  piece,  with  a  view  to 
stage  representation,  which  adaptation  was  made  with 
Schiller  during  the  first  efforts  to  create  a  national 
stage  at  Weimar."  ^ 

The  first  form  is  the  one  I  most  admire,  and  tlie 
one  which,  biographically,  has  most  interest.  While 
he  is  on  his  way  to  Wetzlar  we  will  open  his  portfolio, 
and  take  out  this  manuscript  for  closer  scrutiny,  in- 
stead of  waiting  till  he  publishes  the  second  version. 
From  a  letter  to  Salzmann  we  learn  that  it  was  written 
in  November,  1771.  "My  whole  genius  is  given  to 
an  undertaking  which  makes  me  forget  Shakespeare, 
Homer,  everything ;  I  am  dramatising  the  history  of 

1 "  Werke,"  vol.  xxxiv.,  of  the  edition  of  1840. 
2  "  Werke,"  vol.  ix. 
8  "Werke,"  vol.  xxxv. 


152  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

the  noblest  of  Germans,  to  rescue  the  memory  of  a 
brave  man ;  and  the  hibour  it  costs  me  kills  time  here, 
which  is  at  present  so  necessary  for  me."  He  gives 
the  following  account  of  its  composition,  in  the  Auto- 
bio'^raphy :  "  An  unceasing  interest  in  Shakespeare's 
works  had  so  expanded  my  mind,  that  the  narrow 
compass  of  the  stage,  and  the  short  time  allotted  to 
a  representation,  seemed  to  me  msuiiicient  for  the 
development  of  an  important  idea.  The  life  of  '  Gotz 
von  Berlichingeu,'  written  by  himself,  suggested  the 
historic  mode  of  treatment ;  and  my  imagination  took 
so  wide  a  sweep,  that  my  dramatic  construction  also 
went  beyond  all  theatrical  limits  in  seeking  more  and 
more  to  approach  life.  I  had,  as  I  proceeded,  talked 
the  matter  over  with  my  sister,  who  was  interested 
heart  and  soul  in  such  subjects  ;  and  I  so  often  re- 
newed this  conversation,  without  taking  any  steps 
toward  beginning  the  work,  that  at  last  she  impatiently 
and  urgently  entreated  me  not  to  be  always  talking, 
but,  once  for  all,  to  set  down  upon  paper  that  which 
must  be  so  distinct  before  my  mind.  Moved  by  this 
impulse,  I  began  one  morning  to  write  without  having 
made  any  previous  sketch  or  plan.  I  wrote  the  first 
scenes,  and  in  the  evening  they  were  read  aloud  to 
CorneUa.  She  greatly  applauded  them,  but  doubted 
whether  I  should  go  on  so ;  nay,  she  even  expressed 
a  decided  unbelief  in  my  perseverance.  This  only 
incited  me  the  more;  I  wrote  on  the  next  day,  and 
also  on  the  third.  Hope  increased  with  the  daily  com- 
munications, and  step  by  step  everything  gained  more 
life  as  I  mastered  the  conception.  Thus  I  kept  on, 
without  interruption,  looking  neither  backwards  nor  for- 
wards, neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left;  and  in  about 
six  weeks  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  manuscript 
stitched." 

Gottfried  von  Berhchingen,  surnamed   of  the   Iron 
Hand,  was   a  distinguished  predatory  burgrave  of  the 


LIFE  AND   WORKS   OF  GOETHE  153 

sixteenth  century  ;  ^  one  of  the  last  remains  of  a  turbu- 
lent,   lawless    race    of    feudal   barons,  whose  personal 
prowess  often  lent  the  lustre  of  romance  to  acts  of 
brigandage.      Gottfried   with    the    Iron    Hand   was   a 
worthy  type  of  the  class.     His  loyalty  was  as  unshak- 
able as  his  courage.      Whatever  his  revered  emperor 
thought  fit  to  do,  he  thought  right  to  be  done.     Below 
the    emperor   he   acknowledged   no   lord.      With   his 
fellow  barons  he  waged  continual  war.     Against  the 
Bishop  of  Bamberg,  especially,  he  was  frequently  in 
arms ;  no  sooner  was  a  peace  arranged  with  him,  than 
the    Bishop    of   Mainz  was    attacked.     War  was   his 
element.     With  something  of  Eobin  Hood  chivalry,  he 
was  found  on  the  side  of  the  weak  and  persecuted ; 
unless  when  the  Kaiser  called  for  his  arm,  or  imless 
when  tempted  by  a  httle  private  j'illag'^  on  his  own 
account.     To  his  strong  arm  the  persecuted  looked  for 
protection.     A   tailor    earns   two   hundred    florins   by 
shooting  at  a  mark;  the  sum  is  withheld;  he  goes 
to  Gotz  with  a  piteous  tale ;  instantly  the  Iron  Hand 
clutches  the  recalcitrant  debtors  travelling  that  way, 
and  makes  them  pay  the  two  hundred  florins. 

It  was  a  tempting  subject  for  a  poet  of  the  eight- 
eenth century,  this  bold,  chivalrous  robber,  struggling 
single-handed  against  the  advancing  power  of  civili- 
sation, this  lawless  chieftain  making  a  hopeless  stand 
against  the  Law,  and  striving  to  perpetuate  the  feudal 
spirit.  Pecuharly  interesting  to  the  poet  was  the  con- 
secration of  individual  greatness  in  Giitz.  Here  was 
a  man  great  not  by  privilege,  but  by  Xature ;  his 
superiority  given  him  by  no  tradition,  by  no  'court 
favour,  but  by  favour  only  of  his  own  strong  arm  and 
indomitable  spirit.  And  was  not  the  struggle  of  the 
whole  eighteenth  century  a  struggle  for  the  recognition 

*  Scott  by  an  oversight  makes  him  flourish  in  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury. He  was  born  in  1482,  and  thus  reached  man's  estate  with 
the  opening  of  the  sixteenth  century. 


154  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

of  iudividual  worth,  of  Eights  against  Privileges,  of 
Liberty  against  Tradition  ?  Such  also  was  the  struggle 
of  the  sixteenth  century.  The  Eeformatiou  was  to 
Eehgion  what  the  Eevolution  was  to  Politics :  a  stand 
against  the  tyranny  of  Tradition  —  a  battle  for  the 
rights  of  indivichtal  liberty  of  thought  and  action, 
against  the  absolute  prescriptions  of  privileged  classes. 

In  the  "  Chronicle  of  Gotz  von  Berlichingen,"  his 
deeds  are  recorded  by  himself  with  unafiected  dignity. 
There  Goethe  found  materials,  such  as  Shakespeare 
found  in  Holinshed  and  Saxo-Grammaticus  ;  and  used 
them  in  the  same  free  spirit.  He  has  dramatised  the 
chronicle  —  made  it  live  and  move  before  us:  but  he 
has  dramatised  a  chronicle,  not  written  a  drama.  The 
distinction  is  drawn  for  a  reason  which  will  presently 
appear. 

Viehoff  has  pointed  out  the  use  which  has  been  made 
of  the  chronicle,  and  the  various  elements  which  have 
been  added  from  the  poet's  own  invention.  The  Eng- 
lish reader  cannot  be  expected  to  feel  the  same  interest 
in  such  details  as  the  German  reader  does  ;  it  is  enough 
therefore  to  refer  the  curious  to  the  passage,^  and  only 
cite  the  characters  invented  by  Goethe  ;  these  are  Adel- 
heid,  the  voluptuous,  fascinating  demon ;  Elizabeth,  the 
noble  wife,  in  whom  Goethe's  mother  saw  herself ; 
Alaria,  a  reminiscence  of  Erederika ;  Georg,  Eranz 
Lerse,  Weislingen,  and  the  Gipsies.  The  death  of 
Gotz  is  also  new.  The  tower  mentioned  by  Goethe  is 
still  extant  at  Heilbronn,  under  the  name  of  Gotzen's 
Thurm.  The  rest,  including  tlie  garden,  is  the  creation 
of  the  poet.  Gotz  was  confined  for  only  one  niglit 
in  that  tower.  His  death,  which  according  to  the 
play  must  have  happened  in  1525,  did  not  occur  till 
1562,  when  the  burly  old  knight,  upwards  of  eighty, 
died  at  his  castle  of  Horberg,  at  peace  with  all  men 

1  Goethe's  "Leben,"  vol.  ii.  pp.  77,  79. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  155 

and  in  perfect  freedom.  His  tomb  may  be  seen  at  the 
monastery  of  Schonthal.^ 

Gotz  was  a  dramatic  chronicle,  not  a  drama.  It 
should  never  have  been  called  a  drama,  but  left  in  its 
original  shape  with  its  original  title.  This  would  have 
prevented  much  confusion ;  especially  with  reference  to 
Shakespeare,  and  his  form  of  dramatic  composition. 
While  no  one  can  mistake  the  injiuence  of  Shakespeare 
in  this  work,  there  is  great  laxity  of  language  in  calling 
it  Shakespearian.  Critics  are  judges  who  mostly  rely 
on  precedents  with  the  rigour  of  judges  on  the  beuch. 
They  pronounce  according  to  precedent.  That  indeed 
is  their  office.  No  sooner  has  an  original  work  made 
its  appearance,  than  one  of  these  two  courses  is  invari- 
ably pursued ;  it  is  rejected  by  the  critics  because  it 
does  not  range  itself  under  any  acknowledged  class, 
and  thus  is  branded  because  it  is  not  an  imitation  ;  or 
it  is  quietly  classified  under  some  acknowledged  head. 
The  latter  was  the  case  with  "  Gotz  von  Berlichingen." 
Because  it  set  the  unities  at  defiance,  and  placed  the 
people  beside  the  nobles  on  the  scene ;  because,  instead 
of  declaiming,  the  persons  spoke  dramatically  to  the 
purpose ;  because,  in  short,  it  did  not  range  uuder  the 
acknowledged  type  of  French  tragedy,  it  was  supposed 
to  range  under  the  Shakespearian  type  —  the  only  ac- 
cepted antagonist  to  the  French. 

Is  it  like  Othello  ?  Is  it  like  Macbeth  ?  Is  it  like 
Henry  IV.,  King  John,  Julius  Ca?sar,  or  any  one  un- 
questioned play  by  Shakespeare  ?  Unless  the  words 
"  Shakespearian  style "  are  meaningless,  people  must 
mean  that "  Gotz  "  resembles  Shakespeare's  plays  in  the 
structure  and  organisation  of  plot,  in  the  delineation  of 
character,  and  in  the  tone  of  dialogue ;  yet  a  cursory 
review  of  the  play  will  convince  any  one  that  in  all 

1  Count  Joseph  Berlichingen,  the  present  representative  of  the 
family,  has  recently  published  a  "Life  of  Gotz,"  but  it  has  not 
reached  me. 


156  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

these  respects  it  is  singularly  unlike  Shakespeare's 
plays. 

In  construction  it  differs  from  Shakespeare,  first,  as 
intended  to  represent  an  epoch  rather  than  a  story  ; 
secondly,  as  taking  the  licenses  of  narrative  art,  instead 
of  keeping  the  stage  always  in  view,  and  submitting  to 
the  stern  necessities  of  theatrical  representation  ;  thirdly, 
as  wanting  in  that  central  unity  round  which  all  the 
persons  and  events  are  grouped,  so  as  to  form  a  work 
of  art.     It  is  a  succession  of  scenes :  a  story  of  episodes. 

In  the  presentation  of  character  the  work  is  no  less 
un-Shakespearian.  Our  national  bigotry,  indeed,  as- 
sumes that  every  masterly  portraiture  of  character  is 
Shakespearian  ;  an  assumption  which  cannot  consistently 
maintain  itself  in  the  presence  of  Sophocles,  Racine, 
and  Goethe.  Each  poet  has  a  manner  of  his  own ;  and 
Shakespeare's  manner  is  assuredly  not  visible  in  "  Gcitz 
von  Berlichingen,"  wherein  the  characters  move  before 
us  with  singular  distinctness  in  their  external  charac- 
teristics, but  do  not  as  in  Shakespeare  involuntarily 
betray  the  inmost  secret  of  their  being.  We  know 
them  by  their  language  and  their  acts ;  we  do  not  know 
their  thoughts,  their  self-sophistications,  their  involved 
and  perplexed  motives  partially  obscured  even  to  them- 
selves, and  seen  by  us  in  the  cross  hghts  which  break 
athwart  their  passionate  utterances.  To  take  a  decisive 
example :  Weishngen  is  at  once  ambitious  and  irreso- 
lute, well-meaning  and  weak.^  The  voice  of  friendship 
awakens  remorse  in  him,  and  forces  liim  to  accept  the 
proffered  hand  of  Gotz.  He  swears  never  again  to 
enter  the  bishop's  palace.  But,  easily  seduced  by  high 
thoughts,  he  is  afterward  seduced  as  easily  by  vanity ; 
tempted  he  falls ;  turns  once  more  against  his  noble 
friend ;  and  dies  betrayed  and  poisoned  by  the  wife  to 

1  In  his  vacillation,  Goethe  meant  to  stigmatise  his  own  weak- 
ness with  regard  to  Frederika,  as  he  tells  us  in  the  "  Wahrheit 
uud  Diclitung." 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  157 

whom  he  has  sacrificed  all  —  dies  unpitied  by  others, 
despicable  to  himself.  This  vacillation  is  truthful,  but 
not  truthfully  presented.  We  who  only  see  the  con- 
duct cannot  explain  it.  We  stand  before  an  enigma, 
as  in  real  life ;  not  before  a  character  such  as  Art 
enables  us  to  see,  and  see  through.  It  is  not  the  busi- 
ness of  Art  to  present  enigmas ;  and  Shakespeare,  in 
his  strongest,  happiest  moods,  contrives  to  let  us  see 
into  the  wavering  depths  of  the  soids,  while  we  follow 
the  actions  of  his  characters.  Contrast  Weislingen 
with  such  vacillating  characters  as  Eichard  II.,  King 
John,  or  Hamlet.  The  difference  is  not  of  degree,  but 
of  kind. 

Nor  is  the  language  Shakespearian.  It  is  powerful, 
picturesque,  clear,  dramatic  ;  but  it  is  not  pregnant  with 
thought,  obscured  in  utterance,  and  heavy  with  that 
superfatation  of  ideas,  which  is  a  characteristic  and 
often  a  fault  in  Shakespeare.  It  has  not  his  redun- 
dancy and  prodigal  imagery.  Indeed,  the  absence  of 
all  rhetorical  amplification,  and  of  all  delight  in  imagery 
for  its  own  sake,  is  very  singular,  and  in  the  production 
of  a  boy  especially  so. 

It  was  the  first-born  of  the  Romantic  School,  or 
rather  of  the  tendency  from  which  that  school  issued  ; 
and  its  influence  has  been  widespread.  It  gave  the 
impulse  and  direction  to  Scott's  historical  genius, 
which  has  altered  our  conceptions  of  the  past,  and 
given  new  life  to  History.  It  made  the  Feudal  Ages 
a  subject  of  eager  and  almost  universal  interest.  It 
decided  the  fate  of  French  tragedy  in  German  litera- 
ture. But  its  influence  on  dramatic  art  has  been, 
I  think,  more  injurious  than  beneficial,  and  mainly 
because  the  distinction  between  a  dramatised  chronicle 
and  a  drama  has  been  lost  sight  of. 

This  injurious  influence  is  traceable  in  the  excessive 
importance  it  has  given  to  local  colour,  and  the  inter- 
mingling of  the  historic  with  the   dramatic  element. 


158  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Any  one  at  all  acquainted  with  the  productions  of  the 
Komantic  School  in  Germany  or  France  will  under- 
stand this.  Goethe's  object  not  being  to  write  a  drama 
but  to  dramatise  a  picture  of  the  times,  local  colour 
was  of  primary  importance ;  and  because  he  made  it  so 
attractive,  others  have  imitated  him  in  departments 
where  it  is  needless.  Nay,  critics  are  so  persuaded  of 
its  importance,  that  they  strain  every  phrase  to  show 
us  that  Shakespeare  was  also  a  gi-eat  painter  of  times : 
forgetting  that  local  colouring  is  an  appeal  to  a  critical 
and  learned  audience,  not  an  appeal  to  the  heart  and 
imagination.  It  is  history,  not  drama.  Macbeth  in  a 
bag-wig,  with  a  small  sword  at  his  side,  made  audiences 
tremble  at  the  appaUiug  ruin  of  a  mind  entangled  in 
crime.  The  corrected  costume  would  not  make  that 
tragedy  more  appalhng,  had  we  not  now  grown  so 
critical  that  we  demand  historical  "  accuracy,"  where, 
in  the  true  dramatic  age,  they  only  demand  passion. 
The  merest  glance  at  our  dramatic  literature  will  suf- 
fice to  show  the  preponderating  (and  misplaced)  iutiu- 
ence  of  History,  in  the  treatment,  no  less  than  in 
the  subjects  chosen. 

"  Gotz,"  as  a  picture  of  the  times,  is  an  animated  and 
successful  work;  but  the  eighteenth  century  is  on 
more  than  one  occasion  rudely  thrust  into  the  six- 
teenth ;  and  on  this  ground  Hegel  denies  its  claim  to 
the  highest  originahty.  "  An  origmal  work  appears  as 
the  creation  of  one  mind,  which,  admitting  of  no  exter- 
nal influence,  fuses  the  whole  work  in  one  mould,  as 
the  events  therein  exliibited  were  fused.  If  it  contains 
scenes  and  motives  which  do  not  naturally  evolve 
themselves  from  the  original  materials,  but  are  brought 
together  from  far  and  wide,  then  the  internal  unity 
becomes  necessarily  destroyed,  and  these  scenes  betray 
the  author's  subjectivity.  For  example,  Goethe's  *  Giitz ' 
has  been  gi-eatly  lauded  for  originality,  nor  can  we  deny 
that  he  has  therein  boldly  trampled  under  foot  all  the 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  159 

rules  and  theories  which  were  then  accepted :  but  the 
execution  is  notwithstanding  not  thoroughly  original. 
One  may  detect  in  it  the  poverty  of  youth.  Several 
traits,  and  even  scenes,  instead  of  being  evolved  from 
the  real  subject,  are  taken  from  the  current  topics  of 
the  day.  The  scene,  for  example,  between  Gtitz  and 
brother  Martin,  which  is  an  allusion  to  Luther,  contains 
notions  gathered  from  the  controversies  of  Goethe's 
own  day,  when  —  especially  in  Germany  —  people 
were  pitying  the  monks  because  they  drank  no  wine, 
and  because  they  had  passed  the  vows  of  chastity  and 
obedience.  Martin,  on  the  other  hand,  is  enthusiastic 
in  his  admiration  of  Gotz,  and  his  knightly  career: 
'  When  you  return  back  laden  with  spoils,  and  say, 
such  a  one  I  struck  from  his  horse  ere  he  could  dis- 
charge his  piece ;  such  another  I  overthrew,  horse  and 
man ;  and  then  returning  to  your  castle,  you  find  your 
wife.'  .  .  .  Here  Martin  wipes  his  eyes  and  pledges 
the  wife  of  Gcitz.  Not  so  —  not  with  such  thoughts 
did  Luther  begin,  but  with  quite  another  rehgious 
conviction ! " 

"  In  a  similar  style,"  Hegel  continues,  "  Basedow's 
pedagogy  is  introduced.  Children,  it  was  said,  learn 
much  that  is  foolish  and  unintelligible  to  them;  and 
the  real  method  was  to  make  them  learn  objects,  not 
names.  Karl  thus  speaks  to  his  father  just  as  he 
would  have  spoken  in  Goethe's  time  from  parrot-mem- 
ory :  '  Jaxt-hausen  is  a  village  and  castle  upon  the 
Jaxt,  which  has  been  the  property  and  heritage  for  two 
hundred  years  of  the  Lords  of  Berlichingen.'  '  Do  you 
know  the  Lord  of  Berlichingen  ? '  asks  Gotz  ;  the  child 
stares  at  him,  and  from  pure  erudition  knows  not  his 
own  father.  Gotz  declares  that  he  knew  every  pass, 
pathway,  and  ford  about  the  place,  before  he  knew  the 
name  of  the  village,  castle,  or  river."  ^ 

Considered  with  reference  to  the  age  in  which  it 
1  Hegel's  "  Vorlesungen  iiber  die  ^sthetik,"  i.  p.  382. 


i6o  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

was  produced,  "  Gcitz  von  Berlichingen  "  is  a  marvel- 
lous work :  a  work  of  daring  power,  of  vigour,  of  origi- 
nality ;  a  work  to  form  an  epoch  in  the  annals  of  letters. 
Those  who  now  read  it  as  the  work  of  the  great  Goethe 
may  he  somewhat  disappointed ;  but  at  the  time  of  its 
appearance  no  such  "  magnificent  monster  "  had  startled 
the  pedantries  and  proprieties  of  the  schools  ;  —  "a 
piece,"  said  the  critic  in  the  Teutsche  Alcrcur  of  the 
day,  "  wherein  the  three  unities  are  shamefully  out- 
raged, and  which  is  neither  a  tragedy  nor  a  comedy, 
and  is,  notwithstanding,  the  most  beautiful,  the  most 
captivating  monstrosity." 

The  breathless  rapidity  of  movement  renders  a  first 
reading  too  hurried  for  proper  enjoyment ;  but  on  recur- 
ring to  the  briefly  indicated  scenes,  we  are  amazed  at 
their  fulness  of  life.  How  marvellous,  for  example, 
is  that  opening  scene  of  the  fifth  act  (removed  from 
the  second  version),  where  Adelheid  is  in  the  gipsies' 
tent !  Amid  the  falling  snow  sliines  the  lurid  gleam 
of  the  gipsy  tire,  around  which  move  dusky  figures  ; 
and  this  magnificent  creature  stands  shuddering  as  she 
finds  herself  in  the  company  of  an  old  crone  who  tells 
her  fortune,  while  a  wild-eyed  boy  gazes  ardently  on 
her  and  alarms  her  with  his  terrible  admiration  ;  the 
whole  scene  lives,  yet  the  touches  wliich  call  it  into 
life  are  briefer  than  in  any  other  work  I  can  remember. 


CHAPTER  III. 

WETZLAR. 

In  the  spring  of  1772  he  arrived  at  Wetzlar  with 
"  Gotz  "  in  his  portfolio,  and  in  his  head  many  wild, 
unruly  thoughts.  A  passage  in  the  Autobiography 
amusingly  illustrates  his  conception  of  the  task  he  had 
undertaken  in  choosing  to  inform  the  world  of  his  early 
history.  Remember  that  at  Wetzlar  he  fell  in  love 
with  Charlotte,  and  lived  through  the  experience  which 
was  fused  into  "  Werther,"  and  you  will  smile  as  you 
hear  him  say :  "  What  occurred  to  me  at  Wetzlar  is  of 
no  great  importance,  but  it  may  receive  a  higher  inter- 
est if  the  reader  will  allow  me  to  give  a  cursory  glance 
at  the  history  of  the  Imperial  Chamber,  in  order  to 
present  to  his  mind  the  unfavourable  moment  at  which 
I  arrived."  This  it  is  to  write  autobiography  when 
one  has  outlived  almost  the  memories  of  youth,  and 
lost  sympathy  with  many  of  its  agitations.  At  the 
time  he  was  in  Wetzlar  he  would  have  looked  strangely 
on  any  one  who  ventured  to  tell  him  that  the  history 
of  the  Imperial  Chamber  was  worth  a  smile  from 
Charlotte ;  but  at  the  time  of  writing  his  meagre 
account  of  Wetzlar,  he  had,  perhaps,  some  difficulty  in 
remembering  what  Charlotte's  smiles  were  hke.  The 
biographer  has  a  difficult  task  to  make  any  coherent 
story  out  of  this  episode.^ 

1  Fortunately,  during  the  very  months  Iti  which  I  was  writing 
this  worlc,  there  appeared  an  invaluable  record  in  the  shape  of  the 
correspondence  between  Goethe  and  Kestner,  so  often  alluded  to 

i6i 


1 62  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Wetzlar  is  a  picturesque  town,  the  effect  of  which 
is  striking  as  oue  approaches  it  through  the  avenue 
of  hme-trees  on  the  banks  of  the  Fulda ;  its  ancient 
church,  of  a  reddish  hue,  rearmg  over  the  gray  roofs 
of  the  houses,  has  a  fine  effect,  especially  when  a 
dechning  sun  lights  up  the  ruined  castle  on  the  sum- 
mit of  the  bold  hill,  the  Kalsmunt  which  fronts  the 
town.  One  finds  oneself  in  the  old  German  world  on 
entering  its  quiet  humpbacked  streets,  through  which 
the  river  meanders ;  and  naturally  one's  first  visit  is 
to  the  now  dilapidated,  but  deeply  interesting,  teutsche 
Haus,  at  the  extremity  of  the  town,  lured  there  by  the 
image  of  Werther's  Lotte  even  more  than  by  any  his- 
torical curiosity,  though  this  also  has  its  attraction. 

Das  teutsche  Haus  was  one  of  the  remnants  of  the 
ancient  institution  of  the  Teutsche  Hitter,  or  Teutonic 
Order  of  Knighthood,  celebrated  in  German  medieval 
history.  The  student  is  familiar  with  the  black  armour 
and  white  mantles  of  these  warrior-priests,  who  fought 
with  the  zeal  of  missionaries  and  the  terrible  valour 
of  knights,  conquering  for  themselves  a  large  territory, 
and  still  greater  influence.  But  it  fared  with  them  as 
with  the  knights  of  other  Orders.  Their  strength  lay 
in  their  zeal ;  their  zeal  abated  with  success.  Years 
brought  them  increasing  wealth,  but  the  spiritual 
wealth  and  glory  of  their  cause  departed.  They  be- 
came what  all  corporations  inevitably  become ;  and  at 
the  time  now  written  of  they  were  reduced  to  a  level 
with  the  Knights  of  Malta.  The  Order  still  possessed 
property  in  various  parts  of  Germany,  and  in  certain 
towns  there  was  a  sort  of  steward's  house,  where  rents 

by  literary  liistorians,  but  so  imperfectly  known  ("Goethe  und 
Werther.  Briefe  Goetlie's  nieistens  aus  seiner  Juirendzcit."  Ile- 
rau.sffeRebeu  von  A.  Kestner :  1854).  This  book,  which  is  very 
much  in  need  of  an  editor,  is  one  of  the  richest  sources  to  which 
access  lia.s  been  had  for  a  rii,'ht  understanding  of  Goethe's  youth  ; 
and  it  completes  the  series  of  corroborative  evidence  by  which  to 
control  the  Autobiography. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  163 

were  collected  and  the  business  of  the  Order  transacted  ; 
this  was  uniformly  styled  das  teutsche  Haus. 

On  Goethe's  arrival  at  Wetzlar,  das  teutsche  Haus 
had  for  its  Amtmann,  or  superintendent,  one  Herr 
Buff,  whose  daughter  Charlotte  was  to  inspire  a  pas- 
sion which  has  immortalised  the  family.^  On  her 
account,  and  not  on  account  of  the  old  Eitterthum,  the 
house  is  still  preserved  ;  and  pilgrims  visit  it  to  see  her 
room,  and  its  relics  of  her,  the  drawing-book  of  pat- 
terns for  embroidery,  the  old  clock  and  three  glasses 
(one  minus  its  stem),  and  her  harpsichord,  with  its 
black  keys.  Very  memorable  to  me  is  one  summer 
afternoon  when  George  Eliot  sat  at  that  harpsichord, 
and  Hghtly  touched  its  plaintive  jingling  keys,  which 
sounded  like  the  quavering  of  an  old  woman's  voice ; 
never  did  the  duet  from  Gr^try's  "  Pdchard  Cceur-de- 
lion  "  seem  more  touching  ! 

Beside  this  remnant  of  the  ancient  Eitterthum, 
Goethe,  on  his  arrival,  found  a  burlesque  parody,  in  the 
shape  of  a  Eound  Table  and  its  Knights,  bearing  such 
names  as  St.  Amand  the  Opinionative,  Eustace  the 
Prudent,  Lubormirsky  the  Combative,  and  so  forth.  It 
was  founded  by  August  Friedrich  von  Gou^,  Secretary 
to  the  Brunswick  Embassy,  of  whom  we  shall  hear 
more:  a  wild  and  whimsical  fellow,  not  without  a 
streak  of  genius,  who  drank  himself  to  death.  He 
bore  the  title  of  Eitter  Coucy,  and  christened  Goethe 
"  Gotz  von  Berlichingen  der  Redliclie  —  Gotz  the  Hon- 
est." In  an  imitation  of  "  Werther  "  which  Gou^  wrote,^ 
a  scene  introduces  this  Eound  Table  at  one  of  its 
banquets  at  the  Tavern ;  a  knight  sings  a  French  song, 
whereupon  Gotz  exclaims,  "  Thou  a  German  Eitter, 
and    singest   foreign    songs ! "      Another   knight    asks 

^The  celebrated  living  physicist,  Professor  Buff,  is  a  descendant 
of  the  Amtmann. 

2  "  Masureu,  oder  der  junge  Werther.  Ein  Trauerspiel  aus 
dem  lllyrischeu."     1775. 


1 64  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Gotz,  "  How  far  have  you  advanced  with  the  monu- 
ment which  you  are  to  erect  to  your  ancestor  ? "  Gtitz 
rephes,  "  It  goes  quietly  forward.  Methinks  it  will  be 
a  slap  in  the  face  to  pedants  and  the  public."  ^ 

Of  this  Round  Table  and  its  buffooneries,  Goethe  has 
merely  told  us  that  he  entered  heartily  into  the  fun  at 
first,  but  soon  wearying  of  it,  relapsed  into  his  melan- 
choly fits.  "  I  have  made  many  acquaintances,"  says 
Werther,  "  but  have  found  no  society.  I  know  not  what 
there  is  about  me  so  attractive  that  people  seek  my 
company  with  so  much  ardour.  They  hang  about  me, 
though  I  cannot  walk  two  steps  iu  their  path."  A 
description  of  him,  written  by  Kestner  at  this  period, 
is  very  interesting,  as  it  gives  us  faithfully  the  impres- 
sion he  produced  on  his  acquaintances  before  celebrity 
had  thrown  its  halo  round  his  head,  and  dazzled  the 
perceptions  of  his  admirers  : 

"  In  the  spring  there  came  here  a  certain  Goethe,  by 
trade  2  a  Doctor  Juris,  twenty-three  years  old,  only  son 
of  a  very  rich  father ;  in  order  —  this  was  his  father's 
intention  —  that  he  might  get  some  experience  in 
pra.ci,  but  according  to  his  own  intention,  that  he 
might  study  Homer,  Pindar,  etc.,  and  whatever  else  his 
genius,  his  manner  of  tliinking,  and  his  heart  might 
suggest  to  him. 

"  At  the  very  first  the  heaux  csprits  here  announced 
him  to  the  public  as  a  colleague,  and  as  a  collaborator 
iu  the  new  Frankfort  Gclchrtc  Zcitung,  parenthetically 
also  as  a  philosopher,  and  gave  themselves  trouble  to 
become  intimate  with  liiui.  As  I  do  not  belong  to  this 
class  of  people,  or  rather  am  not  so  much  in  general 
society,  I  did  not  know  Goethe  until  later,  and  quite 

i"Kiii  Stuck  das  Mcisier  uutl  Gesellen  auf's  Maiil  schliigl.'" 
Cited  by  Appell  ;  "  Werther  nnd  seine  Zeil,"  p.  38. 

^Seiner  Ifnndthierunfi  narfi.  Tlio  word  is  old  German,  and  now 
fallen  out  of  u.se,  altliough  the  verb  handthicrcn  i.s  still  occasion- 
ally used. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  165 

by  accident.  One  of  the  most  distinguished  of  our 
beaux  esprits,  the  secretary  of  legation,  Gotter,  per- 
suaded me  one  day  to  go  with  him  to  the  \illage  of 
Garbeuheim  —  a  common  walk.  There  I  found  him 
on  the  grass,  under  a  tree,  lying  on  his  back,  while  he 
talked  to  some  persons  standing  around  him  —  an 
epicurean  philosopher  (Von  Gou6,  a  gi-eat  genius),  a 
stoic  philosopher  (Von  Ivielmansegge),  and  a  hybrid 
between  the  two  (Doctor  Konig)  —  and  thoroughly 
enjoyed  himself.  He  was  afterward  glad  that  I  had 
made  his  acquaintance  under  such  circumstances. 
Many  things  were  talked  of  —  some  of  them  very  in- 
teresting. This  time,  however,  I  formed  no  other  judg- 
ment concerning  him  than  that  he  was  no  ordinary 
man.  You  know  that  I  do  not  judge  hastily.  I  found 
at  once  that  he  had  genius  and  a  lively  imagination ; 
but  this  was  not  enough  to  make  me  estimate  him 
highly. 

"  Before  I  proceed  further,  I  must  attempt  a  descrip- 
tion of  him,  as  I  have  since  learned  to  know  him  better. 
He  has  a  great  deal  of  talent,  is  a  true  genius  and  a  man 
of  character ;  possesses  an  extraordinarily  vivid  imagina- 
tion, and  hence  generally  expresses  himself  in  images 
and  similes.  He  often  says,  himself,  that  he  always 
speaks  figuratively,  and  can  never  express  himself  liter- 
ally ;  but  that  when  he  is  older  he  hopes  to  think  and 
say  the  thought  itself  as  it  really  is.  He  is  ardent  in 
all  his  affections,  and  yet  has  often  great  power  over 
himself.  His  manner  of  thinking  is  noble :  he  is  so 
free  from  prejudices  that  he  acts  as  it  seems  good  to 
him,  vtdthout  troubling  himself  whether  it  will  please 
others,  whether  it  is  the  fashion,  whether  convention- 
alism allows  it.     All  constraint  is  odious  to  him. 

"  He  is  fond  of  children,  and  can  occupy  himself 
with  them  very  much.  He  is  hizarre,  and  there  are 
several  things  in  his  manner  and  outward  bearing 
which  might  make  him  disagreeable.     But  with  chil- 


1 66  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

dren,  womeu,  and  many  others,  he  is  nevertheless  a 
favourite.  He  has  a  great  respect  for  the  female  sex. 
In  principiis  he  is  not  yet  fixed,  and  is  still  striving 
after  a  sure  system.  To  say  something  of  this,  he  has 
a  high  opinion  of  Kousseau,  but  is  not  a  bhnd  worship- 
per of  him.  He  is  not  what  is  called  orthodox.  Still 
this  is  not  out  of  pride  or  caprice,  or  for  the  sake  of 
making  himself  a  role.  On  certain  important  subjects 
he  opens  himself  to  few,  and  does  not  willingly  disturb 
the  contentment  of  others  in  their  own  ideas.  It  is 
true  he  hates  skepticism,  strives  after  truth  and  after 
conviction  on  certain  main  points,  and  even  believes 
that  he  is  already  convinced  as  to  the  weightiest ;  but 
as  far  as  I  have  observed,  he  is  not  yet  so.  He  does 
not  go  to  church  or  to  the  sacrament,  and  prays  seldom. 
For,  says  he,  I  am  not  hypocrite  enough  for  that.  Some- 
times he  seems  in  repose  with  regard  to  certain  sub- 
jects, sometimes  just  the  contrary.  He  venerates  the 
Christian  rehgion,  but  not  in  the  form  in  which  it  is 
presented  by  our  theologians.  He  believes  in  a  future 
life,  in  a  better  state  of  existence.  He  strives  after 
truth,  yet  values  the  feeling  of  truth  more  than  the 
demonstration.  He  has  already  done  much,  and  has 
many  acquirements,  much  reading ;  but  he  has  thought 
and  reasoned  still  more.  He  has  occupied  himself 
chiefly  %vith  the  hcllcs  lettres  and  the  fine  arts,  or  rather 
wath  "all  sorts  of  knowledge,  except  that  which  wins 
bread." 

On  the  margin  of  the  rough  draught,  Kestner  adds : 
"  T  wished  to  describe  him,  but  it  would  be  too  long  a 
business,  for  there  is  much  to  be  said  about  him.  In 
one  wf)rd,  he  is  a  very  rnnnrhahle  man." 

Further  on:  "I  should  never  have  done,  if  I 
attempted  to  describe  him  fully." 

The  Gotter  referred  to  at  the  opening  of  this  letter 
was  a  young  man  of  considerable  culture,  with  whom 
Ooethe  became  intimate  over  renewed  discussions  on 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  167 

art  and  criticism.  "  The  opinions  of  the  ancients,"  he 
says,  "  on  these  important  topics  I  had  studied  by  fits 
and  starts  for  some  years.  Aristotle,  Cicero,  Quin- 
tilian,  Longinus  —  none  were  neglected,  but  they  did 
not  help  me,  for  they  presupposed  an  experience  which 
I  needed.  They  introduced  me  to  a  world  infinitely 
rich  in  works  of  art ;  they  unfolded  the  merits  of  great 
poets  and  orators,  and  convinced  me  that  a  vast  ahin- 
dance  of  objects  rmist  lie  he  fore  us  ere  we  can  think  upon 
them  —  that  we  must  accomplish  something,  nay  fail 
in  something,  before  we  can  learn  our  own  capacities 
and  those  of  others.  My  knowledge  of  much  that 
was  good  in  ancient  hterature  was  merely  that  of  a 
schoolboy,  and  by  no  means  vi\id.  The  most  splendid 
orators,  it  was  apparent,  had  formed  themselves  in  life, 
and  we  could  never  speak  of  them  as  artists  without  at 
the  same  time  mentioning  their  personal  peculiarities. 
With  the  poets  this  was  perhaps  less  the  case :  but 
everywhere  nature  and  art  came  in  contact  only  through 
life.  And  thus  the  result  of  all  my  investigations  was 
my  old  resolution  to  study  Nature,  and  to  allow  her  to 
guide  me  in  loving  imitation." 

Properly  to  appreciate  this  passage  we  must  recall 
the  almost  universal  tendency  of  the  Germans  to  con- 
struct poems  in  conformity  with  definite  rules,  making 
the  poet  but  a  development  of  the  critic.  Lessing  nobly 
avowed  that  he  owed  all  his  success  to  his  critical 
sagacity ;  Schiller,  it  is  notorious,  hampered  his  genius 
by  fixing  on  his  Pegasus  the  leaden  wings  of  Kant's 
philosophy ;  and  Klopstock  himself  erred  in  too  much 
criticism.  Goethe  was  the  last  man  to  disdain  the  rich 
experience  of  centuries,  the  last  man  to  imagine  that 
ignorance  was  an  advantageous  basis  for  a  poet  to  stand 
upon,  but  he  was  too  thoroughly  an  artist  not  to  per- 
ceive the  insufficiency  of  abstract  theories  in  the  pro- 
duction of  a  work  of  art  which  should  be  the  expression 
of  real  experience.      In  conjunction  with   Gotter  he 


i6S  LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

translated  Goldsmith's  "Deserted  Village,"  though  he 
speaks  slightingly  of  his  share  in  it.  Through  Gotter's 
representations  he  was  also  persuaded  to  publish  some 
little  poems  in  Boie's  Annual.  "I  thus  ^  came  into 
contact  with  those,"  he  says,  "  who,  united  by  youth 
and  talent,  afterward  effected  so  much  in  various  ways. 
Biirger,  Voss,  Hdlty,  the  two  Counts  Stolberg,  and  sev- 
eral others  grouped  round  Klopstock  ;  and  in  this  poet- 
ical circle,  which  extended  itself  more  and  more,  there 
was  developed  a  tendency  which  1  know  not  exactly 
how  to  name.  One  might  call  it  that  need  of  inde- 
pendence which  always  arises  in  times  of  peace  —  that 
is  to  say,  precisely  when,  properly  speaking,  one  is  not 
dependent.  In  war  we  bear  restraints  of  force  as  well 
as  we  can  ;  we  are  physically,  but  not  morally  wounded  ; 
the  restraint  disgraces  no  one ;  it  is  no  shame  to  serve 
the  time ;  we  grow  accustomed  to  suffering  both  from 
foes  and  friends ;  we  have  wishes  rather  than  definite 
views.  On  the  contrary,  in  times  of  peace  our  love  of 
freedom  becomes  more  and  more  prominent,  and  the 
greater  our  freedom,  the  more  we  wish  for  it ;  we  will 
tolerate  nothing  above  us ;  we  will  not  be  restrained ; 
no  one  shall  be  restrained !  This  tender,  sometimes 
morbid,  feeling  assumes  in  noble  souls  the  form  of  jus- 
tice :  such  a  spirit  then  manifested  itself  everywhere ; 
and  because  but  few  were  oppresed,  it  was  wished  to 
free  these  from  occasional  oppression.  And  thus  arose 
a  certain  moral  contest  between  individuals  and  the 
government,  which,  however  laudable  its  origin,  led  to 
unhappy  results.  Voltaire,  reverenced  for  his  conduct 
in  tlie  affair  of  Calais,  had  excited  great  attention : 
and  in  Germany  Lavater's  proceedings  against  the 
Landvogt  (sheriff  of  the  province)  had  perhaps  been 

1  Duntzor  in  his  "Studion"  has  thrown  doubts  on  this  con- 
nection with  the  Gottinj;cn  school  havinj;  originated  in  Wctzlar. 
But  the  point  is  of  no  importance,  and  Goethe's  own  version  is 
left  undi.sturbed  in  the  text. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  169 

even  more  striking.  The  time  was  approaching  when 
dramatists  and  novelists  sought  their  villains  among 
ministers  and  othcial  persons ;  hence  arose  a  world, 
half  real,  half  imaginary,  of  action  and  reaction,  in 
which  the  most  violent  accusations  and  instigations 
were  made  by  wTiters  of  periodical  journals,  under  the 
garb  of  justice,  who  produced  the  more  powerful  effect 
because  they  made  the  public  imagine  that  it  was  itself 
the  tribunal  —  a  foolish  notion,  as  no  puhlic  has  an 
executive  power ;  and  in  Germany,  dismembered  as  it 
was,  pubhc  opinion  neither  benefited  nor  injured  any 
one." 

It  was  a  period  of  deep  unrest  in  Europe  :  the  travail 
of  the  French  Eevolution.  In  Germany  the  spirit  of 
the  revolution  issued  from  the  study  and  the  lecture- 
hall  ;  it  was  a  literary  and  philosophic  insurrection, 
with  Lessing,  Klopstock,  Kant,  Herder,  and  Goethe  for 
leaders.  Authority  was  everywhere  attacked,  because 
everywhere  it  had  shown  itself  feeble  or  tyrannous. 
The  majestic  peruke  of  Louis  XIV.  was  lifted  by  an 
audacious  hand,  which  thus  revealed  the  baldness  so 
long  concealed.  No  one  now  believed  in  that  Grand 
Monarque ;  least  of  all  Goethe,  who  had  "  Gotz  von 
Berlichingen "  in  his  portfoho,  and  to  whom  Homer 
and  Shakespeare  were  idols.  "  Send  me  no  more  books," 
writes  Werther,  "  I  will  no  longer  be  led,  incited,  spurred 
by  them.  There  is  storm  enough  in  this  breast.  I  want 
a  cradle-melody,  and  that  I  have  in  all  its  fulness  in 
Homer.  How  often  do  I  lull  with  it  my  raging  blood 
to  rest ! "  The  Kestner  correspondence  proves,  what 
before  was  known,  that  "  Werther  "  is  full  of  autobi- 
ography, and  that  Goethe  was  then  troubled  with  fits 
of  depression  following  upon  days  of  the  wildest  ani- 
mal spirits.  He  was  fond  of  solitude ;  and  the  lonely 
hours  passed  in  reading,  or  making  sketches  of  the 
landscape  in  his  rough,  imperfect  style. 

"  A  marvellous  serenity  has  descended  on  my  spirit," 


lyo  LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

writes  Werther,  "  to  be  compared  only  to  the  sweet 
mornings  of  spring  which  so  charm  my  heart.  I  am 
alone,  and  here  life  seems  delicious  in  this  spot  formed 
for  natures  hke  mine.  I  am  so  happy,  so  filled  with 
the  calm  feeling  of  existence,  that  my  art  suffers.  I 
cannot  sketch,  yet  never  was  I  a  greater  painter  than 
at  this  moment !  When  the  dear  valley  clothes  itself 
in  vapour,  and  the  sun  shines  on  the  top  of  my  impen- 
etrable forest  and  only  a  few  gleams  steal  into  its  sanc- 
tuary, while  I  he  stretched  iu  the  tall  grass  by  the  cas- 
cade, curiously  examine  the  many  grasses  and  weeds, 
and  contemplate  the  little  world  of  insects  with  their 
innumerable  forms  and  colours,  and  feel  within  me  the 
presence  of  the  Almighty  who  formed  us  after  his  own 
image,  the  breath  of  the  All-loving  who  sustains  us  in 
endless  bhss,  —  my  friend,  when  my  eyes  are  fixed  on 
all  these  objects,  and  the  world  images  itself  in  my  soul 
hke  the  form  of  a  beloved,  then  I  yearn  and  say  :  Ah  ! 
couldst  thou  but  express  that  which  lives  within  thee, 
that  it  sliould  be  tlie  mirror  of  thy  soul,  as  thy  soul  is 
the  mirror  of  the  Infinite  God!" 

The  image  of  Frederika  pursued  him.  It  could  only 
be  banished  by  the  presence  of  another.  "  When  I 
was  a  boy,"  he  prettily  says,  in  a  letter  to  Salzmann, 
"  I  planted  a  cherry-tree,  and  watched  its  growth  with 
delight.  Spring  frost  killed  the  blossoms,  and  I  had 
to  wait  another  year  before  the  cherries  were  ripe  — 
then  the  birds  ate  them ;  another  year  the  caterpillars 
—  then  a  greedy  neighbour  —  then  the  blight.  Never- 
theless, when  I  have  a  garden  again,  I  shall  again  plant 
a  cherry-tree  ! "     He  did  so  : 

"  And  from  Beauty  passed  to  Beauty, 
Constant  to  a  constant  change."  ^ 

The  image  which  was  to  supplant  that  of  Frederika 
was  none  otlier  than  that  of  the  Cliarlotte  Buff  before 

^Lord  Houghton. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  171 

mentioned.  Two  years  before  his  arrival,  her  mother 
had  died.  The  care  of  the  house  and  children  devolved 
upon  her ;  she  was  only  sixteen,  yet  good  sense,  house- 
wifely aptitude,  and  patient  courage  carried  her  suc- 
cessfully through  this  task.  She  had  for  two  years 
been  betrothed  to  Kestuer,  secretary  to  the  Hanoverian 
Legation,  then  aged  four  and  twenty:  a  quiet,  orderly, 
formal,  rational,  cultivated  man,  possessing  great  mag- 
nanimity, as  the  correspondence  proves,  and  a  dignity 
which  is  in  nowise  represented  in  the  Albert  of  "  Wer- 
ther,"  from  whom  we  must  be  careful  to  distinguish 
him,  in  spite  of  the  obvious  identity  of  position.  How 
Goethe  came  to  know  Kestner  has  already  been  seen ; 
how  he  came  to  know  Lotte  may  now  be  told.^  The 
reader  with  "  Werther  "  in  hand  may  compare  the  nar- 
rative there  given  with  this  extract  from  Kestner' s  let- 
ter to  a  friend.  "  It  happened  that  Goethe  was  at  a 
ball  in  the  country  where  my  maiden  and  I  also  were. 
I  could  only  come  late,  and  was  forced  to  ride  after 
them.  My  maiden,  therefore,  drove  there  in  other 
society.  In  the  can-iage  was  Doctor  Goethe,  who 
here  first  saw  Lottchen.  He  has  great  knowledge, 
and  has  made  Nature  in  her  physical  and  moral 
aspects  his  principal  study,  and  has  sought  the  true 
beauty  of  both.  No  woman  here  had  pleased  him. 
Lottchen  at  once  fixed  his  attention.  She  is  young, 
and  although  not  regularly  beautiful,  has  a  very 
attractive  face.  Her  glance  is  as  bright  as  a  spring 
morning,  and  especially  it  was  so  that  day,  for  she 
loves  dancing.  She  was  gay,  and  in  quite  a  simple 
dress.  He  noticed  her  feeling  for  the  beauty  of  Nature, 
and  her  unforced  wit,  —  rather  humour  than  wit.  He 
did  not  know  she  was  betrothed.  I  came  a  few  hours 
later ;  and  it  is  not  our  custom  in  public  to  testify  any- 
thing beyond  friendship  to  each  other.     He  was  exces- 

1  Lotte  and  Lottchen,  it  is  perhaps  not  altogether  superfluous 
to  add,  are  the  favourite  diminutives  of  Charlotte. 


172  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF   GOETHE 

sively  gay  (this  he  often  is,  though  at  other  times 
melaucholy) ;  Lottcheu  quite  fascinated  him,  the  more 
so  because  she  took  no  trouble  about  it,  but  gave  her- 
self wholly  to  the  pleasure  of  the  moment.  The  next 
day,  of  course,  Goethe  called  to  inquire  after  her.  He 
had  seen  her  as  a  lively  girl,  fond  of  dancing  and  pleas- 
ure ;  he  now  saw  her  under  another  and  a  better  aspect, 
—  in  her  domestic  quality." 

To  judge  from  her  portraits,  both  in  youth  and  old 
age,  Lotte  must,  in  her  way,  have  been  a  charming 
creature  :  not  intellectually  cultivated,  not  poetical,  — 
above  all,  not  the  sentimental  girl  described  by  Wer- 
ther;  but  a  serene,  calm,  joyous,  open-hearted  German 
maiden,  an  excellent  housewife,  and  a  priceless  man- 
ager. Goethe  at  once  fell  in  love  with  her.  An  ex- 
tract  from  Kestner's  account  will  tell  us  more.  After 
describing  his  engagement  to  Lotte,  he  adds :  "  She 
is  not  strictly  a  brilliant  beauty,  according  to  the  com- 
mon opinion  ;  to  me  she  is  one :  she  is,  notwithstand- 
ing, the  fascinating  maiden  who  might  have  hosts  of 
admirers,  old  and  young,  grave  and  gay,  clever  and 
stupid,  etc.  But  she  knows  how  to  comdnce  them 
quickly  that  their  only  safety  must  be  sought  in  flight 
or  in  friendship.  One  of  these,  as  the  most  remarkable, 
I  will  mention,  because  he  retains  an  influence  over  us. 
A  youth  in  years  (twenty-three),  but  in  knowledge,  and 
in  the  development  of  his  mental  powers  and  character, 
already  a  man,  an  extraordinary  genius,  and  a  man  of 
cliaracter,  was  here,  —  as  his  family  believed,  for  the 
sake  of  studying  the  law,  but  in  fact  to  track  the  foot- 
steps of  Nature  and  Truth,  and  to  study  Homer  and 
Pindar.  He  had  no  need  to  study  for  the  sake  of  a 
maintenance.  Quite  by  chance,  after  he  had  been  here 
some  time,  he  became  acquainted  with  Lottchen,  and 
saw  in  her  his  ideal :  he  saw  her  in  her  joyous  aspect, 
but  was  soon  aware  that  this  was  not  her  best  side ; 
he  learned  to  know  her  also  in  her  domestic  position. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  173 

and,  in  a  word,  became  her  adorer.  It  could  not  long 
remain  unknown  to  him  that  she  could  give  him  noth- 
ing but  friendship ;  and  her  conduct  toward  him  was 
admirable.  Our  coincidence  of  taste,  and  a  closer  ac- 
quaintance with  each  other,  formed  between  him  and 
me  the  closest  bond  of  friendship.  Meanwhile,  although 
he  was  forced  to  renounce  all  hope  in  relation  to  Lott- 
chen,  and  did  renounce  it,  yet  he  could  not,  with  all 
his  philosophy  and  natural  pride,  so  far  master  himself 
as  completely  to  repress  his  inclination.  And  he  has 
quahties  which  might  make  him  dangerous  to  a  woman, 
especially  to  one  of  susceptibility  and  taste.  But  Lott- 
chen  knew  how  to  treat  him  so  as  not  to  encourage 
vain  hope,  and  yet  make  him  admire  her  manner 
toward  him.  His  peace  of  mind  suffered :  there  were 
many  remarkable  scenes,  in  which  Lottchen's  behaviour 
heightened  my  regard  for  her  ;  and  he  also  became 
more  precious  to  me  as  a  friend ;  but  I  was  often 
inwardly  astonished  that  love  can  make  such  strange 
creatures  even  of  the  strongest  and  otherwise  the 
most  self-sustained  men.  I  pitied  him,  and  had  many 
inward  struggles ;  for,  on  the  one  hand,  I  thought  that 
I  might  not  be  in  a  position  to  make  Lottchen  so  happy 
as  he  would  make  her ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  I  could 
not  endure  the  thought  of  losing  her.  The  latter  feel- 
ing conquered,  and  in  Lottchen  I  have  never  once  been 
able  to  perceive  a  shadow  of  the  same  conflict." 

Another  extract  will  place  this  conflict  iu  its  true 
light :  "  I  am  under  no  further  engagement  to  Lottchen 
than  that  under  which  an  honourable  man  stands  when 
he  gives  a  young  woman  the  preference  above  all 
others,  makes  known  that  he  desires  the  like  feeling 
from  her,  and  when  she  gives  it,  receives  from  her  not 
only  this  but  a  complete  acquiescence.  This  I  con- 
sider quite  enough  to  bind  an  honourable  man,  espe- 
cially when  such  a  relation  lasts  several  years.  But 
in  my  case  there  is  this  in  addition,  that  Lottchen  and 


174  LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

I  have  expressly  declared  ourselves,  and  still  do  so  with 
pleasure,  without  any  oaths  and  asseverations."  This 
absence  of  any  legal  tie  between  them  must  have  made 
Kestner's  position  far  more  trying.  It  gives  a  higher 
idea  both  of  his  generous  forbearance  and  of  the  fasci- 
nation exercised  by  Goethe :  for  what  a  position  !  and 
how  much  nobility  on  all  sides  was  necessary  to  pre- 
vent petty  jealousies  ending  in  a  violent  rupture  !  Cer- 
tain it  is  that  the  greatest  intimacy  and  the  most 
affectionate  feelings  were  kept  up  without  disturbance. 
Confident  in  the  honour  of  his  friend  and  the  truth  of 
his  mistress,  Kestner  never  spoiled  the  relation  by  a 
hint  of  jealousy.  Goethe  was  constantly  in  Lotte's 
house,  where  his  arrival  was  a  jubilee  to  the  children, 
who  seized  hold  of  him,  as  children  always  take  loving 
possession  of  those  who  are  indulgent  to  them,  and 
forced  him  to  tell  them  stories.  It  is  a  pleasant  sight 
to  see  Goethe  with  cliildren ;  he  always  shows  such 
hearty  fondness  for  them ;  and  these  brothers  and 
sisters  of  Lotte  were  doubly  endeared  to  him  because 
they  belonged  to  her. 

One  other  figure  in  this  Wetzlar  set  arrests  our  atten- 
tion :  it  is  that  of  a  handsome  blonde  youth,  with  soft 
blue  eyes  and  a  settled  melancholy  expression.  His 
name  is  Jerusalem,  and  he  is  the  son  of  the  venerable 
Abbot  of  Riddagshausen.^  He  is  here  attached  as 
secretary  to  the  Brunswick  Legation,  a  colleague, 
therefore,  of  Von  Gou6.  He  is  deeply  read  in  Eng- 
lish literature,  and  has  had  the  honour  of  Lessing's 
friendship ;  a  friendship  subsequently  expressed  in  the 
following  terms,  when  Lessing,  acting  as  his  editor, 
wrote  the  preface  to  his  Philosophical  Essays  :  "  When 
he  came  to  Wolfenbiittel  he  gave  me  his  friendship. 
I  did  not  enjoy  it  long,  but  I  cannot  easily  name  one 

*No  Catholic,  as  this  title  might  seem  to  imply,  but  a  Protes- 
tant;  his  abbey,  secularised  two  ceuturies  before,  yielded  him 
only  a  title  and  revenues. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  175 

who  in  so  short  a  space  of  time  excited  in  me  more 
affection.  It  is  true  I  only  learned  to  know  one  side 
of  his  nature,  but  it  was  the  side  which  explains  all 
the  rest.  It  was  the  desire  for  clear  knowledge ;  the 
talent  to  follow  truth  to  its  last  consequences ;  the 
spirit  of  cold  observation ;  but  an  ardent  spirit  not  to 
be  intimidated  by  truth.  .  .  .  How  sensitive,  how  warm, 
how  active  this  young  inquirer  was,  how  true  a  man 
among  men,  is  better  known  to  more  intimate  friends." 
Tlie  Essays  which  these  words  introduce  are  five  in 
number ;  the  titles  are  given  below.^ 

The  melancholy  of  his  disposition  led  him  to  think 
much  of  suicide,  which  he  defended  on  speculative 
grounds.  And  this  melancholy,  and  these  meditations, 
were  deepened  by  an  unhappy  passion  for  the  wife  of 
one  of  his  friends.  The  issue  of  that  passion  we  shall 
have  to  narrate  in  a  future  chapter.  For  the  present 
it  is  enough  to  indicate  the  presence  of  this  youth 
among  the  circle  of  Goethe's  acquaintances.  They  saw- 
but  little  of  each  other,  owing  to  the  retiring  sensitive- 
ness of  Jerusalem  ;  probably  the  same  cause  had  kept 
them  asunder  years  before  in  Leipsic,  where  they  were 
fellow  students ;  but  their  acquaintance  furnished 
Goethe  with  materials  which  he  was  afterward  to  use 
in  his  novel. 

Jerusalem's  unhappy  passion  and  Goethe's  unhappy 
passion,  one  would  think,  must  have  been  a  bond  of 
union  between  them ;  but  in  truth  Goethe's  passion 
can  scarcely  have  been  called  "  unhappy "  —  it  was 
rather  a  delicious  uneasiness.  Love  in  the  profound, 
absorbing  sense  it  was  not.  It  was  an  imagiiiative 
passion,  in  which  the  poet  was  more  implicated  than 
the  man.     Lotte  excited  his  imagination ;  her  beauty, 

1 1.  Dass  die  Sprache  dem  ersten  Menschen  dnrch  Wunder  nicht 
mitgetheilt  sein  kann.  II.  Ueber  die  Natur  luid  den  IJrspruug 
der  allgemeiiien  und  abstrakten  Beirriffe.  III.  Ueber  die  Freiheit. 
IV.  Ueber  die  Mendelssohn'sche  Theoric  vom  sinnlichen  Verguii- 
gen.     V.  Ueber  die  vermischten  Einpfindungen. 


176  LIFE   AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

her  serene  gaiety,  her  affectionate  manners,  charmed 
him ;  the  romance  of  his  position  heightened  the 
charm,  hy  giving  an  unconscious  security  to  his  feel- 
inn's.  I  am  persuaded  that  if  Lotte  had  been  free,  he 
would  have  lied  from  her  as  he  lied  from  Frederika. 
In  saying  this,  however,  I  do  not  mean  that  the  impos- 
sibility of  obtaining  her  gave  him  any  comfort.  He 
was  restless,  impatient,  and,  in  a  certain  sense,  un- 
happy. He  believed  himself  to  be  desperately  in  love 
with  her,  when  in  truth  he  was  only  in  love  with  the 
indulgence  of  the  emotions  he  excited ;  a  paradox 
which  will  be  no  mystery  to  those  acquainted  with 
the  poetic  temperament. 

Thus  passed  the  summer.  In  August  he  made  a  ht- 
tle  excursion  to  Giessen,  to  see  Professor  Hopfner,  one 
of  the  active  writers  in  the  Franlxfurter  Gelehrten 
Anzeigen.  Characteristically  he  calls  on  the  professor 
incognito,  presenting  himself  as  a  shy,  awkward  stu- 
dent ;  which,  as  Hopfner  only  knows  him  through  cor- 
respondence, is  facile  enough.  The  comic  scene  ends 
by  his  jumping  into  the  professor's  arms,  exclaiming, 
"  I  am  Goethe ! "  In  Giessen  he  found  Merck.  He 
persuaded  him  to  return  to  Wetzlar,  to  be  introduced 
to  Lotte.  Merck  came ;  but  so  far  from  undervaluing 
her,  as  the  very  inaccurate  account  in  the  Autobiography 
would  have  us  understand,  Merck  wrote  to  a  friend : 
"  J'ai  trouv6  aussi  I'amie  de  Goethe,  cette  fille  dont  il 
parle  avec  tant  d'enthousiasme  dans  toutes  ses  lettres. 
Elle  m^rite  rdellement  tout  ce  qu'il  pourra  dire  du  bien 
sur  son  compte."  ^  He  exasperated  Goethe  by  prefer- 
ring the  "  Juno  form  "  of  one  of  her  friends,  and  point- 
ing her  out  as  the  more  worthy  of  attention,  because 
she  was  disengaged.  That  Goethe  should  have  been 
offended,  was  in  the  order  of  things ;  but  in  the  retro- 
spective glance  which  he  gave  to  this  period  in  his  old 

»  "  Briefe  aus  dem  Freundeskreise  von  Goethe,  Herder,  Merck," 
p.  59. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  177 

age,  he  ought  to  have  detected  the  really  friendly  spirit 
animating  Merck  ;  he  ought  not  to  have  likened  him  to 
Mephistopheles  ;  the  more  so  as  Merck's  representations 
veere  really  effectual,  and  hastened  the  denouement. 
Every  day  made  Goethe's  position  less  tenable.  At 
last  he  consented  to  tear  himself  away,  and  accom- 
pany Merck  in  a  trip  down  the  Rhine.  It  was  time. 
Whatever  factitious  element  there  may  have  been  in 
his  romance,  the  situation  was  full  of  danger ;  indul- 
gence in  such  emotions  would  have  created  at  last  a  real 
and  desperate  passion  ;  there  was  safety  but  in  flight. 

Merck  left  Wetzlar,  having  arranged  that  Goethe 
should  join  him  at  Coblentz.  The  following  extracts 
from  Kestner's  Diary  will  remind  the  reader  of  Goethe's 
departure  from  Leipsic  without  saying  adieu  to  Kath- 
chen.  His  dishke  of  "  scenes  "  made  Mm  shrink  from 
those  emotions  of  leave-taking  usually  so  eagerly  sought 
by  lovers. 

"Sept.  10,  1772.  To-day  Doctor  Goethe  dmed 
with  me  in  the  garden ;  I  did  not  know  that  it  was 
the  last  time.  In  the  evening  Doctor  Goethe  came 
to  the  teutsche  Haus.  He,  Lottchen,  and  I,  had  a 
remarkable  conversation  about  the  future  state ;  about 
going  away  and  returning,  etc.,  which  was  not  begun 
by  him,  but  by  Lottchen.  We  agreed  that  the  one 
who  died  first  should,  if  he  could,  give  information  to 
the  living,  about  the  conditions  of  the  other  life. 
Goethe  was  quite  cast  down,  for  he  knew  that  the  next 
morning  he  was  to  go." 

"  Sejpt.  11,  1772.  This  morning  at  seven  o'clock 
Goethe  set  off  without  taking  leave.  He  sent  me  a 
note  with  some  books.  He  had  long  said  that  about 
this  time  he  would  make  a  journey  to  Coblentz,  where 
the  paymaster  of  the  forces,  Merck,  awaited  him,  and 
that  he  would  say  no  good-byes,  but  set  off  suddenly. 
So  I  had  expected  it.  But  that  I  was,  notwithstanding, 
unprepared  for  it,  I  have  felt  —  felt  deep  in  my  soul. 


178  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF   GOETHE 

In  the  morniug  I  came  home.  '  Herr  Doctor  Goethe 
sent  this  at  ten  o'clock.'  I  saw  the  books  and  the 
note,  and  thought  what  this  said  to  nie  —  'He  is 
gone ! '  —  and  was  quite  dejected.  Soon  after,  Hans  ^ 
came  to  ask  me  if  he  were  really  gone  ?  The  Gchcime 
Bathin  Langen  had  sent  to  say  by  a  maid  servant :  '  It 
was  very  ill-mannered  of  Doctor  Goethe  to  set  off  in 
this  way,  without  taking  leave.'  Lottchen  sent  word 
in  reply  :  '  Why  had  she  not  taught  her  nephew  better  ? ' 
Lottchen,  in  order  to  be  certain,  sent  a  box  which  she 
had  of  Goethe's  to  his  house.  He  was  no  longer  there. 
In  the  middle  of  the  day  the  Gchewie  RcitMn  Langen 
sent  word  again :  '  She  w^ould,  however,  let  Doctor 
Goethe's  mother  know  how  he  had  conducted  himself.' 
Every  one  of  the  children  in  the  teutsche  Haus  was 
saying :  '  Doctor  Goethe  is  gone  ! '  In  the  middle  of  the 
day  I  talked  with  Herr  von  Born,  who  had  accom- 
panied him,  on  horseback,  as  far  as  Brunnfells.  Goethe 
had  told  him  of  our  evening's  conversation.  Goethe  had 
set  out  in  very  low  spirits.  In  the  afternoon  I  took 
Goethe's  note  to  Lottchen.  She  was  sorry  about  his 
departure ;  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes  while  reading. 
Yet  it  was  a  satisfaction  to  her  that  he  was  gone, 
since  she  could  not  give  him  the  affection  he  desired. 
We  spoke  only  of  him  ;  indeed,  I  could  think  of  nothing 
else,  and  defended  the  manner  of  his  leaving,  wliich 
was  blamed  by  a  silly  person ;  I  did  it  with  much 
warmth.  Afterward  I  wrote  him  word  what  had 
haiipened  since  his  departure." 

How  grapliically  do  these  simple  touches  set  the 
whole  situation  before  us :  the  sorrow  of  the  two 
lovers  at  the  departure  of  their  friend,  and  the  conster- 
nation of  the  cliildren  on  hearing  that  Doctor  Goethe 
is  gone !  One  needs  such  a  picture  to  reassure  us  that 
the  episode,  with  all  its  strange  romance,  and  with  all 
its  danger,  was  not  really  a  tit  of  morbid  sentimen- 
1  One  of  Lotte's  brothers. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  179 

talism.  Indeed,  had  Goethe  been  the  sentimental  Wer- 
ther  he  has  represented,  he  would  never  have  had  the 
strength  of  will  to  tear  himself  from  such  a  position. 
He  would  have  blown  his  brains  out,  as  Werther  did. 
On  the  other  hand,  note  what  a  worthy  figure  is  this 
of  Kestner,  compared  with  the  cold  Albert  of  the 
novel.  A  less  generous  nature  would  have  rejoiced  in 
the  absence  of  a  rival,  and  forgotten,  in  its  joy,  the 
loss  of  a  friend.  But  Kestner,  who  knew  that  his 
friend  was  his  rival,  —  and  such  a  rival  that  doubts 
crossed  him  whether  this  magnificent  youth  were  not 
really  more  capable  of  rendering  Lotte  happy  than  he 
himself  was,  —  grieved  for  the  absence  of  his  friend  ! 

Here  is  Goethe's  letter,  referred  to  in  the  passage 
just  quoted  from  the  Diary  : 

"  He  is  gone,  Kestner ;  when  you  get  this  note,  he 
is  gone !  Give  Lottchen  the  enclosed.  I  am  quite 
composed,  but  your  conversation  has  torn  me  to  pieces. 
At  this  moment  I  can  say  nothing  to  you  but  farewell. 
If  I  had  remained  a  moment  longer  with  you  I  could 
not  have  restrained  myself.  Now  I  am  alone,  and 
to-morrow  I  go.     Oh,  my  poor  head  ! " 

This  was  the  enclosure,  addressed  to  Lotte : 

"  I  certainly  hope  to  come  agaia,  but  God  knows 
when !  Lotte,  what  did  my  heart  feel  while  you  were 
talking,  knowing,  as  I  did,  that  it  was  the  last  time  I 
should  see  you  ?  Not  the  last  time,  and  yet  to-morrow 
I  go  away.  He  is  gone !  What  spirit  led  you  to  that 
conversation  ?  Wlien  I  was  expected  to  say  all  I  felt, 
alas !  what  I  cared  about  was  here  below,  was  your 
hand,  which  I  kissed  for  the  last  time.  The  room 
which  I  shall  not  enter  again,  and  the  dear  father  who 
saw  me  to  the  door  for  the  last  time.  I  am  now 
alone,  and  may  weep ;  I  leave  you  happy,  and  shall 
remain  in  your  heart.  And  shall  see  you  again ;  hut 
not  to-morrow  is  never  !  Tell  my  boys.  He  is  gone.  I 
can  say  no  more." 


CHAPTEE   IV. 

PREPARATIONS   FOR   WERTHER. 

Having  sent  his  luggage  to  the  house  of  Frau  von 
La  Eoche,  where  he  was  to  meet  Merck,  he  made  the 
journey  down  the  Lahn  on  foot.  A  dehcious  sadness 
subdued  his  thoughts  as  he  wandered  dreamily  along 
the  river  banks ;  and  the  lovely  scenes  which  met  his 
eye  sohcited  his  pencil,  awakening  once  more  the 
ineffectual  desire  (which  from  time  to  time  haunted 
him)  of  becoming  a  painter.  He  had  really  no  faculty 
in  this  direction,  yet  the  desire,  often  suppressed,  now 
rose  up  in  such  a  serious  shape,  that  he  resolved  to 
settle  for  ever  whether  he  should  devote  himself  to  the 
art  or  not.  The  test  was  curious.  The  river  glided 
beneath,  now  flashing  in  the  sunlight,  now  partially 
concealed  by  willows.  Taking  a  knife  from  his  pocket, 
he  flung  it  with  his  left  hand  into  the  river,  having 
previously  resolved  that  if  he  saw  it  fall  he  was  to 
become  an  artist ;  but  if  the  sinking  knife  were  con- 
cealed by  the  willows,  he  was  to  abandon  the  idea. 
No  ancient  oracle  was  ever  more  ambiguous  than  the 
answer  now  given  him.  The  willows  concealed  the 
sinking  knife,  but  the  water  splashed  up  like  a  fountain, 
and  was  distinctly  visible.  So  indefinite  an  answer 
left  him  in  doubt.^ 

iThis  mode  of  interrojratinp;  fate  recalls  that  strange  passage  ia 
Rousseau's  "  Confessions  "  (Livre  vi.)  where  he  throws  a  stone  at  a 
tree  :  if  he  hits,  it  is  a  sign  of  salvation  ;  if  he  misses,  of  dam- 
nation !  Fortunately  he  hits  :  "  Ce  qui,  v^ritablement,  n'^tait 
pas  difficile,  car  j'avais  eu  le  soiu  de  le  choisir  fort  gros  et  fort 

1 80 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  18 1 

He  wandered  pleasantly  on  the  banks  till  he  reached 
Ems,  and  then  journeyed  down  the  river  in  a  boat. 
The  old  Ehine  opened  upon  him ;  and  he  mentions 
with  peculiar  delight  the  magnificent  situation  of 
Oberlahnstein,  and,  above  all,  the  majesty  of  the 
castle  of  Ehrenbreitstein.  On  arriving  at  the  house 
of  Geheimrath  von  La  Eoche,  where  he  had  been  an- 
nounced by  Merck,  he  was  most  kindly  received  by 
this  excellent  family.  His  literary  tendencies  bound 
him  to  the  mother;  his  joyousness  and  strong  sense, 
to  the  father ;  his  youth  and  poetry,  to  the  daughters. 
The  Frau  von  La  Eoche,  Wieland's  earliest  love,  had 
written  a  novel  in  the  Eichardson  style,  "Die  Geschichte 
des  Fraulein  von  Sternheim  ; "  and  Schafer  remarks  that 
she  probably  gathered  Merck,  Goethe,  and  others  into 
her  house  with  a  view  to  favourable  criticisms  of  this 
novel.  If  this  were  her  design,  she  succeeded  with 
Goethe,  who  reviewed  her  book  in  the  Frankfurter 
Gelehrteni  Anzeigen.  Whether  this  compliance  was 
extorted  by  herself,  or  by  the  charms  of  her  daughter 
Maximiliane,  history  saith  not :  certain  it  is  that  the 
dark  eyes  of  the  daughter  made  an  impression  on 
the  heart  of  the  young  reviewer.  She  is  the  Mile.  B. 
introduced  in  "  Werther ; "  but  she  is  even  still  more 
interesting  to  us  as  the  future  mother  of  Bettina. 
They  seemed  to  have  looked  into  each  other's  eyes, 
flirted  and  sentimentalised,  as  if  no  Lotte  had  been 
left  in  Wetzlar.  Nor  will  this  surprise  those  who 
have  considered  the  mobile  nature  of  our  poet.  He  is 
miserable  at  moments,  but  the  fulness  of  abounding 
life,  the  strength  of  victorious  will,  and  the  sensibility 
to  new  impressions,  keep  his  ever-active  nature  from 


prfes  ;  depuis  lors  je  n'ai  plus  dout6  de  mon  salut."  Had  Goethe 
read  this  passage  ?  The  "  Confessions"  appeared  in  1768,  that  is, 
four  years  before  this  journey  down  the  Lahn.  Yet  from  a  pas- 
sage in  one  of  his  letters  to  the  Frau  von  Stein,  it  seems  as  if  he 
then,  1782,  first  read  the  "Confessions." 


i82  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

the  despondency  which  killed  Werther.  He  is  not 
always  drooping  because  Charlotte  is  another's.  He  is 
open  to  every  new  impression,  serious  or  gay.  Thus, 
among  other  indications,  we  find  him  throwing  off  in 
"  Pater  Brey  "  and  "  Satyros,"  sarcasm  and  humour  which 
are  curious  as  products  of  the  "  Werther "  period, 
although  of  no  absolute  worth ;  and  we  follow  him  up 
the  Rhine,  in  company  with  Merck,  and  his  family, 
leisurely  enjoying  Rheiufels,  St.  Goar,  Bacharach,  Bin- 
gen,  Elfeld,  and  Biberich, — 

"  Tlie  blending  of  all  beauties  ;  streams  and  dells, 
Fruit,  foliage,  crag,  wood,  corn-field,  mountain,  vine, 
And  chiefless  castles,  breathing  stern  farewells 
From  gray  but  leafy  walls  where  Ruin  greenly  dwells  "  — 

sketcliing  as  if  life  were  a  leisure  summer  day. 

He  returned  to  Frankfort,  and  busied  himself  with 
law,  literature,  and  painting.  Wandering  Italians,  then 
rare,  brought  casts  of  antique  statues  to  Frankfort ; 
and  with  delighted  eagerness  he  purchased  a  complete 
set,  thus  to  revive  as  much  as  possible  the  grand 
impression  he  received  at  Mannheim.  Among  his  art- 
studies  must  be  noted  the  attention  bestowed  on  the 
Dutch  painters.  He  began  to  copy  some  still-life 
pictures ;  one  of  these  he  mentions  ^vith  pride ;  and 
what,  think  you,  this  one  was  ?  —  a  copy  of  a  tortoise- 
shell  knife-handle  inlaid  with  silver !  He  has  "  GJitz 
von  Berlichingen  "  in  his  portfolio,  and  delights  in  copy- 
ing the  copy  of  a  knife-handle  ! 

To  law  he  devoted  himself  with  greater  assiduity 
than  ever.  His  father,  dehghted  at  going  tlirough 
the  papers  with  him,  was  peculiarly  gratified  at  this 
honourable  diligence,  and  in  his  delight  was  wilhng  to 
overlook  the  other  occupations  of  this  "  singular  crea- 
ture," as  he  rightly  named  him.  Goethe's  literary  jilans 
were  numerous,  and  the  Frnnlfort  Journal  gave  him 
constant  opportunities  for  expressing  himself  on  poetry. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  183 

theology,  and  even  politics.  Very  significant  is  the 
following  passage  from  one  of  these  articles,  in  reply 
to  the  complaint  that  the  Germans  had  no  Fatherland, 
no  Patriotism.  "  When  we  have  a  place  in  the  world 
where  we  can  repose  with  our  property,  a  field  to 
nourish  us,  and  a  house  to  cover  us,  have  we  not  there 
our  Fatherland  ?  and  have  not  thousands  upon  thou- 
sands in  every  city  got  this  ?  and  do  they  not  live 
happy  in  their  limited  sphere  ?  Wherefore,  then,  this 
vain  striving  for  a  sentiment  we  neither  have  nor  can 
have,  a  sentiment  which  only  in  certain  nations,  and 
in  certain  periods,  is  the  result  of  many  concurrent 
circumstances  ?  Eoman  patriotism !  God  defend  us 
from  it,  as  from  a  giant!  we  could  not  find  the  stool 
upon  which  to  sit,  nor  the  bed  on  which  to  lie  in  such 
patriotism  ! "  He  was  also  rewriting  "  Gotz  von  Berlich- 
ingen."  He  found  on  re-reading  the  manuscript,  that, 
beside  the  unities  of  time  and  place,  he  had  sinned 
against  the  higher  unity  of  composition.     He  says : 

"  In  abandoning  myself  to  my  imagination,  I  had 
not  deviated  much  in  the  beginning,  and  the  first  acts 
were  pretty  much  as  had  been  intended.  In  the 
following  acts,  however,  and  especially  toward  the  end, 
I  was  unconsciously  led  away  by  a  singular  passion. 
In  making  Adelheid  so  lovable,  I  had  fallen  in  love 
with  her  myself,  —  my  pen  was  unconsciously  devoted 
to  her  alone,  —  the  interest  in  her  fate  gained  the 
preponderance ;  and  as,  moreover,  Gotz,  toward  the 
end,  has  little  to  do,  and  afterward  only  returns  to  an 
unhappy  participation  in  the  Peasant  War,  nothing 
was  more  natural  than  that  a  charming  woman  should 
supplant  him  in  the  mind  of  the  author,  who,  casting 
off  the  fetters  of  art,  thought  to  open  a  new  field.  I 
was  soon  sensible  of  this  defect,  or  rather  this  culpable 
superfluity,  since  my  poetical  nature  always  impelled 
me  to  unity.  Instead  of  the  biography  of  Gotz  and 
German  antiquities,  I  now  confined   my  attention  to 


I $4  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

my  own  work,  to  give  it  more  and  more  historical  and 
national  substance,  and  to  cancel  that  which  was  fabu- 
lous or  passionate.  In  this  I  indeed  sacrificed  much, 
as  the  inclination  of  the  man  had  to  yield  to  the  con- 
viction of  the  artist.  Thus,  for  instance,  I  had  placed 
Adelheid  in  a  terrific  nocturnal  gipsy  scene,  where  she 
produced  a  great  effect  by  her  beautiful  presence.  A 
nearer  examination  banished  her ;  and  the  love-affair 
between  Franz  and  his  gracious  lady,  which  was  very 
circumstantially  carried  on  in  the  fourth  and  fifth 
acts,  was  much  condensed,  and  only  the  chief  points 
indicated. 

"  Without  altering  the  manuscript,  which  I  still 
possess  in  its  original  shape,  I  determined  to  rewrite 
the  whole,  and  did  this  with  such  activity,  that  in  a 
few  weeks  I  produced  an  entirely  new  version.  It 
had  never  been  my  intention  to  have  the  second  poem 
printed,  as  I  looked  upon  this  likewise  as  no  more 
than  a  preparatory  exercise,  the  foundation  of  a  new 
work,  to  be  accomplished  with  greater  industry  and 
deliberation. 

"  AVhen  I  suggested  my  plans  to  Merck,  he  laughed  at 
me,  and  asked  what  was  the  meaning  of  this  perpetual 
writing  and  rewriting  ?  The  work,  he  said,  by  this  means, 
only  becomes  different,  and  seldom  better ;  you  must 
see  what  effect  one  thing  produces,  and  then  try  some- 
thing new.  '  Be  in  time  at  the  hedge,  if  you  would 
dry  your  linen,'  he  exclaimed,  in  the  words  of  the 
proverb :  hesitation  and  delay  only  make  uncertain 
men.  On  the  other  hand,  I  pointed  out  how  unpleas- 
ant it  would  be  to  offer  a  bookseller  a  work  on  which 
I  had  bestowed  so  much  affection,  and  perhaps  have  it 
refused ;  for  how  would  they  judge  of  so  young,  name- 
less, and  audacious  an  author  ?  As  my  dread  of  the 
press  gradually  vanished,  I  wished  to  see  printed  my 
comedy  '  Die  Mitschuldigen,'  upon  which  I  set  some 
value,  but  I  found  no  pubUsher  inclined  to  undertake  it. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  185 

"  Here  the  mercantile  taste  of  my  friend  was  at  once 
excited.  He  proposed  that  we  should  piibhsh  at  our 
own  expense  this  siugular  and  striking  work,  from 
which  we  should  derive  large  profit.  Like  many 
others,  he  used  often  to  reckon  up  the  bookseller's 
profit,  which  with  many  works  was  certainly  great, 
especially  if  what  was  lost  by  other  writings  and  com- 
mercial affairs  was  left  out  of  the  calculation.  We 
settled  that  I  should  procure  the  paper,  and  that  he 
should  answer  for  the  printing.  To  work  we  went, 
and  I  was  pleased  to  see  my  wild  dramatic  sketch  in 
clean  proof-sheets  ;  it  looked  really  better  than  I  myself 
expected.  We  completed  the  work,  and  it  was  sent 
off  in  several  parcels.  It  was  not  long  before  the 
attention  it  excited  became  universal.  But  as,  with 
our  limited  means,  the  copies  could  not  be  forwarded, 
a  pirated  edition  suddenly  made  its  appearance.  As, 
moreover,  there  could  be  no  immediate  return,  espe- 
cially in  ready  money,  for  the  copies  sent  out,  and  as 
my  treasury  was  not  very  flourishing  at  the  time  when 
much  attention  and  applause  was  bestowed  upon  me,  I 
was  extremely  perplexed  how  to  pay  for  the  paper  by 
means  of  which  I  had  made  the  world  acquainted  with 
my  talent.  On  the  other  hand,  Merck,  who  knew 
better  how  to  help  himself,  was  certain  that  all  would 
soon  come  right  again ;  but  I  never  perceived  that  to 
be  the  case." 

There  is  some  inaccuracy  in  the  foregoing,  which  a 
comparison  of  the  first  and  second  versions  of  the  work 
will  rectify.  The  changes  he  effected  were  very  shght, 
and  mainly  consist  in  the  striking  out  of  the  two 
scenes  in  which  Adelheid  plays  so  conspicuous  a  part. 

A  greater  inaccuracy,  amounting  to  injustice,  is  con- 
tained in  the  passage  about  Herder,  as  we  now  learn 
from  the  "  Posthumous  Papers "  of  the  latter,  from 
which  it  is  clear  that  he  did  greatly  admire  "  Gcitz," 


i86  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

and  wrote  warmly  of  it  to  his  betrothed,  saying,  "  You 
will  have  some  heavenly  hours  of  delight  when  you 
read  it,  for  there  is  in  it  uncommon  German  strength, 
depth,  and  truth,  although  here  and  there  it  is  rather 
schemed  than  artistically  wrought  {nur  gcdacht)."  Prob- 
ably in  writing  to  Goethe  he  was  more  critical,  and  as 
usual  with  him,  somewhat  pedagogic ;  but  it  is  also 
probable  that  he  was  loud  in  praise,  since  the  poet 
replies,  "  Your  letter  was  a  consolation.  I  already  rank 
the  work  much  lower  thau  you  do.  Your  sentence 
that  Shakespeare  has  quite  spoiled  me,  I  admit  to  the 
full  The  work  must  be  fused  anew,  freed  from  its 
dross,  and  with  newer,  better  metal  cast  again.  Then 
it  shall  appear  before  you."  He  seems  to  have  been 
nettled  (not  unnaturally)  at  the  sentence,  "  All  is  rather 
schemed  than  artistically  wrought,"  which,  he  says,  is 
true  of  "  Emilia  Galotti,"  and  prevents  his  altogether 
liking  it,  although  a  masterpiece.  Judging  from  a  tol- 
erably extensive  acquaintance  with  authors  in  relation 
to  criticism,  I  should  think  it  highly  probable  that  the 
longer  Goethe  pondered  on  Herder's  letter  the  fainter 
became  his  pleasure  in  the  praise,  and  the  stronger  his 
irritation  at  the  blame.  I  have  known  a  feeling  of 
positive  gratitude  for  a  criticism  slowly  to  change  into 
an  uneasy  and  almost  indignant  impression  of  injustice 
having  been  done.  That  Goethe  did  not,  on  reflection, 
so  entirely  concur  with  the  objections  he  was  at  first 
ready  to  admit,  appears  from  the  fact  that  he  did  not 
recast  his  work. 

When  "  Giitz  "  appeared,  the  effect  on  the  public  was 
instantaneous,  startling.  Its  bold  expression  of  the 
spirit  of  Freedom,  its  defiance  of  French  criticism,  and 
the  originality  no  less  than  the  power  of  the  writing, 
carried  it  trium])hant  over  Germany.  It  was  pro- 
nounced a  masterpiece  in  all  the  salons  and  in  all  the 
beer-liouses  of  that  uneasy  time.  Imitations  followed 
with  amazing  rapidity ;  the  stage  was  noisy  with  the 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  187 

clang  of  chivalry,  and  the  book-shelves  creaked  beneath 
the  weight  of  resuscitated  Feudal  Times. 

An  amusing  example  of  "  the  trade "  is  mentioned 
by  Goethe.  A  bookseller  paid  him  a  visit,  and,  with 
the  air  of  a  man  well  satisfied  with  his  proposal,  offered 
to  give  an  order  for  a  dozen  plays  in  the  style  of  "  Gotz," 
for  which  a  handsome  honorarium  should  be  paid.  His 
offer  was  the  more  generous,  because  such  was  the 
state  of  literature  at  this  period,  that,  in  spite  of  the 
success  Gotz  achieved,  it  brought  no  money  to  its 
author  —  pirated  editions  circulating  everywhere,  and 
robbing  him  of  his  reward.  Moreover,  what  the  book- 
seller proposed  was  what  the  pubhc  expected.  When 
once  a  writer  has  achieved  success  in  any  direction,  he 
must  continue  in  that  direction,  or  peril  his  reputation. 
An  opinion  has  been  formed  of  him  ;  he  has  been 
classed ;  and  the  public  will  not  have  its  classification 
disturbed.  Nevertheless,  if  he  repeat  himself,  this 
unreasoning  public  declaims  against  his  "  poverty."  No 
man  ever  repeated  himself  less  than  Goethe.  He  did 
not  model  a  statue,  and  then  amuse  himself  with  tak- 
ing casts  of  it  in  different  materials.  He  lived,  thought, 
and  suffered ;  and  because  he  had  lived,  thought,  and 
suffered,  he  wrote.  When  he  had  once  expressed  his 
experience  in  a  work,  he  never  recurred  to  it.  The 
true  artist,  hke  the  snake,  casts  his  skin,  but  never 
resumes  it.  He  w^orks  according  to  the  impulse  from 
within,  not  according  to  the  demand  from  without. 
And  Goethe  was  a  genuine  artist,  never  exhausting  a 
lucky  discovery,  never  working  an  impoverished  vein. 
Every  poem  came  fresh  from  life,  coined  from  the  mint 
of  his  experience. 

"Gcitz"  is  the  greatest  product  of  the  Sturm  und 
Drang  movement.  As  we  before  hinted,  this  period 
is  not  simply  one  of  vague  wild  hopes  and  retrospec- 
tions of  old  German  life,  it  is  also  one  of  unhealthy 
sentimentalism.     Goethe,  the  great  representative  poet 


i8S  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

of  his  day  —  the  secretary  of  his  age  —  gives  us  mas- 
terpieces which  characterise  both  these  tendencies. 
Beside  the  insurgent  Gotz  stands  the  dreamy  Werther. 
And  yet,  accurately  as  these  two  works  represent  two 
active  tendencies  of  the  time,  they  are  both  far  re- 
moved above  the  perishing  extravagances  of  that  time ; 
they  are  both  ideal  expressions  of  the  age,  and  as  free 
from  the  disease  which  corrupted  it  as  Goethe  himself 
was  free  from  the  weakness  of  his  contemporaries. 
Wilkes  used  to  say  that  he  had  never  been  a  Wilkite. 
Goethe  was  never  a  Werther.  To  appreciate  the  dis- 
tance which  separated  him  and  his  works  from  his 
sentimental  contemporaries  and  their  works,  we  must 
study  the  characters  of  such  men  as  Jacobi,  Kliuger, 
Wagner,  and  Lenz,  or  we  must  read  such  works  as 
"  Woldemar."  It  will  then  be  plain  why  Goethe 
turned  with  aversion  from  such  works,  his  own 
included,  when  a  few  years  had  cleared  his  insight, 
and  settled  his  aims.  Then  also  will  be  seen  the  differ- 
ence between  genius  which  ideahses  the  spirit  of  the 
age,  and  talent  which  panders  to  it.^ 

It  was,  indeed,  a  strange  epoch ;  the  unrest  was  the 
unrest  of  disease,  and  its  extravagances  were  morbid 
symptoms.  In  the  letters,  memoirs,  and  novels,  which 
still  remain  to  testify  to  the  follies  of  the  age,  may  be 
read  a  self-questioning  and  sentimental  introspection, 
enough  to  create  in  healthy  minds  a  distaste  both  for 
sentiment  and  self-questioning.  A  factitious  air  is 
carried  even  by  the  most  respectable  sentiments ;  and 
many  not  respectable  array  themselves  in  rose-pink. 
Nature  is  seldom  spoken  of  but  in  hysterical  entliu- 
siasm.  Tears  and  caresses  are  prodigally  scattered, 
and  upon  the  slightest  provocations.  In  Coburg  an 
Order  of  Mercy  and  Expiation  is  instituted  by  sensi- 

1  As  Karl  Grun  epifrrammatically  says  of  Goethe  and  his  con- 
temporaries, "  He  was  at  once  patient  and  physician  ;  they  were 
patients  and  nothing  else." 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  189 

tive  noodles.  Leuchsenring,  whom  Goethe  satirised  in 
"  Pater  Brey  "  as  a  professional  sentimentalist,  gets  up 
a  secret  society  and  calls  it  the  Order  of  Sentiment, 
to  which  tender  soids  think  it  a  privilege  to  belong. 
Friendship  is  fantastically  deified  ;  brotherly  love  draws 
trembling  souls  together,  not  on  the  solid  grounds  of 
affection  and  mutual  service,  but  on  entirely  imaginary 
grounds  of  "  spiritual  communion ; "  whence  arose  as 
Jean  Paul  wittily  says,  "  an  universal  love  for  all 
men  and  beasts  —  except  reviewers."  It  was  a  skep- 
tical epoch,  in  which  everything  estabhshed  came  into 
question.  Marriage,  of  course,  came  badly  off  among  a 
set  of  men  who  made  the  first  commandment  of  genius 
to  consist  in  loving  your  neighbour  and  your  neigh- 
bour's wife. 

These  were  symptoms  of  disease  ;  the  social  organ- 
isation was  out  of  order ;  a  crisis,  evidently  imminent, 
was  heralded  by  extravagances  in  literature,  as  else- 
where. The  cause  of  the  disease  was  want  of  faith. 
In  religion,  in  philosophy,  in  politics,  in  morals,  this 
eighteenth  century  was  ostentatious  of  its  disquiet 
and  disbelief.  The  old  faith,  w^hich  for  so  long  had 
made  European  life  an  organic  unity,  and  which  in  its 
tottering  weakness  had  received  a  mortal  blow  from 
Luther,  was  no  longer  universal,  living,  active,  domi- 
nant ;  its  place  of  universal  directing  power  was  vacant ; 
a  new  faith  had  not  arisen.  The  French  Revolution 
was  another  crisis  of  that  organic  disturbance  which 
had  previously  shown  itself  in  another  order  of  ideas, 
—  in  the  Reformation.  Besides  this  awful  crisis, 
other  minor  crises  are  noticeable.  Everywhere  the 
same  Protestant  spirit  breaks  through  traditions,  in 
morals,  in  literature,  and  in  education.  Whatever  is 
established,  whatever  rests  on  tradition,  is  questioned. 
The  classics  are  no  longer  believed  in ;  men  begin  to 
maintain  the  doctrine  of  progress,  and  proclaim  the 
superiority  of  the  moderns.     Art  is  pronounced  to  be 


190  LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

in  its  uature  progressive.  Education  is  no  longer  per- 
mitted to  pursue  its  broad  traditional  path ;  the 
methods  whicli  were  excellent  for  the  past,  no  longer 
suffice  for  the  present ;  everywhere  new  methods  rise 
up  to  ameliorate  the  old.  The  divine  right  of  institu- 
tions ceases  to  gain  credence.  The  individual  claims 
and  proclaims  his  freedom :  freedom  of  thought  and 
freedom  of  act.  Freedom  is  the  watchword  of  the 
eighteenth  century. 

Enough  has  been  said  to  indicate  the  temper  of  those 
times,  and  to  show  why  "  Werther  "  was  a  part  expres- 
sion of  that  temper.  Turning  to  the  novel  itself,  we 
find  it  so  bound  up  with  the  life  of  its  author,  that  the 
history  of  his  life  at  this  epoch  is  the  record  of  the 
materials  from  which  it  was  created ;  we  nnist,  there- 
fore, retrace  our  steps  again  to  the  point  where  Goethe 
left  Wetzlar,  and,  by  the  aid  of  his  letters  to  Kestner, 
follow  the  development  of  this  strange  romance. 

"  Giitz  "  was  published  in  the  summer  of  1773.  It  was 
in  the  autumn  of  1772  that  Goethe  left  Wetzlar,  and 
returned  home.  His  letters  to  Kestner  and  Charlotte 
are  full  of  passionate  avowals  and  tender  reminiscences. 
The  capricious  orthogiaphy  and  grammar  to  be  noticed 
in  them  belong  to  a  period  when  it  was  thought  un- 
worthy of  a  genius  to  conform  to  detaOs  so  fastidious 
as  correct  spelling  and  good  grammar ;  but  the  affec- 
tionate nature  which  warms  these  letters,  the  abun- 
dant love  the  writer  felt  and  inspired,  these  belong  to 
him,  and  not  to  his  age.  If  a  proof  were  wanted  of 
Goethe's  loving  disposition,  we  might  refer  to  these 
letters,  especially  those  addressed  to  the  y»)ung 
brother  of  Charlotte.  The  reader  of  tliis  biogi-aphy, 
however,  will  need  no  such  proof,  and  we  may  there- 
fore confine  ourselves  to  the  relation  of  Goethe  to  the 
Kestners.  "  God  bless  you,  dear  Kestner,"  runs  one  of 
tlie  early  letters,  "  and  tell  Lotte  tliat  1  often  believe  I 
can  forget  her ;  but  then  I  have  a  relapse,  and  it  is 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  191 

worse  with  me  than  ever."  He  longs  once  more  to  be 
sitting  at  her  feet,  letting  the  children  clamber  over 
him.  He  writes  in  a  strain  of  melancholv,  which  is 
as  much  poetry  as  sorrow :  when  a  thought  of  suicide 
arises,  it  is  only  one  among  the  many  thoughts  which 
hurry  through  his  mind.  There  is  a  very  significant 
passage  in  the  Autobiography,  which  aptly  describes 
his  real  state  of  mind :  "  I  had  a  large  collection  of 
weapons,  and  among  them  a  very  handsome  dagger. 
This  I  placed  by  my  bedside  every  night,  and  before 
extinguishing  my  candle  I  made  various  attempts  to 
pierce  the  sharp  point  a  couple  of  inches  into  my 
breast ;  but  not  being  able  to  do  it,  I  laughed  myself 
out  of  the  notion,  threw  aside  all  hypochondriacal 
fancies,  and  resolved  to  live."  He  played  with  suicidal 
thoughts,  because  he  was  restless,  and  suicide  was  a 
fashionable  speculation  of  the  day ;  but  whoever  sup- 
poses these  thoughts  of  suicide  were  serious  has  greatly 
misunderstood  him.  He  had  them  not,  even  at  this 
period ;  and  when  he  wrote  "  Werther "  he  had  long 
thrown  off  even  the  faint  temptation  of  poetic  longings 
for  death.  In  October,  1772,  the  report  reaches  him 
that  his  Wetzlar  friend  Gone  has  shot  himself :  "  Write 
to  me  at  once  about  Gone,"  he  says  to  Kestner ;  "  I 
honour  such  an  act,  and  pity  manlcind,  and  let  all  the 
Philisters  make  their  tobacco-smoke  comments  on  it 
and  say :  There,  you  see  !  Nevertheless,  I  hope  never 
to  make  my  friends  unhappy  by  such  an  act,  myself." 
He  was  too  full  of  life  to  do  more  than  coquet  with 
the  idea  of  death.  Here  is  a  confession  :  "  I  went  to 
Homburg,  and  there  gained  new  love  of  life,  seeing 
how  much  pleasure  the  appearance  of  a  miserable 
thing  like  me  can  give  such  excellent  people."  On 
the  7th  of  November  he  suddenly  appeared  in  VVet/lar 
with  Schlosser,  and  stayed  there  till  the  10th,  in  a 
feverish,  but  dehcious,  enthusiasm.  He  writes  to  Kest- 
ner on  reaching  home :  "  It  was  assuredly  high  time 


192  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

for  me  to  go.  Yesterday  evening  I  had  thoroughly 
criminal  thoughts  as  I  lay  on  the  sofa.  .  .  .  And  when 
I  think  how  above  all  my  hopes  your  greeting  of  me 
was,  I  am  very  calm.  I  confess  I  came  with  some 
anxiety.  I  came  with  a  pure,  w^arm,  full  heart,  dear 
Kestner,  and  it  is  a  hell-pain  when  one  is  not  received 
in  the  same  spirit  as  one  brings.  But  so  —  God  give 
you  a  whole  life  such  as  those  two  days  were  to  me ! " 

The  report  of  Gout's  suicide,  before  alluded  to, 
turned  out  to  be  false ;  but  the  suicide  of  Jerusalem 
was  a  melancholy  fact.  Goethe  immediately  writes 
to  Kestner : 

"  Unhappy  Jerusalem !  The  news  was  shocking, 
and  unexpected ;  it  was  horrible  to  have  this  news  as 
an  accompaniment  to  the  pleasantest  gift  of  love.  The 
unfortunate  man !  But  the  devil,  that  is,  the  infamous 
men  who  enjoy  nothing  but  the  chaff  of  vanity,  and 
have  the  lust  of  idolatry  in  their  hearts,  and  preach 
idolatry,  and  cramp  healthy  nature,  and  overstrain  and 
ruin  the  faculties,  are  guilty  of  this  misery,  of  our 
misery.  If  the  cursed  parson  is  not  guilty,  God  for- 
give me  that  I  wish  he  may  break  his  neck  like  Eh. 
The  poor  young  man !  When  I  came  back  from  a 
walk,  and  he  met  me  in  the  moonlight,  I  said  to  my- 
self, he  is  in  love.  Lotte  must  still  remember  that  I 
laughed  about  it.  God  knows,  loneliness  undermined 
his  heart,  and  for  seven  years  ^  his  form  has  been 
familiar  to  me.  I  have  talked  little  with  him.  When 
I  came  away,  I  brought  with  me  a  book  of  his ;  I  will 
keep  that  and  the  remembrance  of  liim  as  long  as  I 
Hve." 

Among  the  many  inaccuracies  of  the  Autobiog- 
raphy, there  is  one  of  consequence  on  the  subject  of 
"  Werther,"  namely,  the  assertion  that  it  was  the  news 
of  Jerusalem's  suicide  which  suddenly  set  him  to  work. 

'Tlii.s  "seven  years"  refers  to  the  first  sight  of  Jerusalem  at 
Leipsic. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  193 

The  news  reached  him  in  October,  1772,  and  in 
November  Kestner  sent  him  the  narrative  of  Jeru- 
salem's last  days.  Not  until  the  middle  and  end  of 
1773  did  he  write  "  Werther."  In  fact,  the  state  of 
his  mind  at  this  period  is  by  no  means  such  as  the 
Autobiography  describes.  Read  this  letter  written  in 
December :  "  That  is  wonderful !  I  was  about  to  ask 
if  Lenchen  ^  had  arrived,  and  you  write  to  tell  me  she 
is.  If  I  were  only  there  I  would  nullify  your  dis- 
course, and  astonish  all  the  tailors ;  I  tliink  I  should 
be  fonder  of  her  than  of  Lotte.  From  the  portrait  she 
must  be  an  amiable  girl,  much  better  than  Lotte,  if 
not  precisely  the  .  .  .  And  I  am  free  and  thirsting 
for  love.  I  must  try  and  come ;  yet  that  would  not 
help  me.  Here  am  I  once  more  in  Frankfort,  and 
carry  plans  and  fancies  about  with  me,  which  I  should 
not  do  if  I  had  but  a  maiden."  In  January  he  seems 
to  have  found  a  maiden,  for  he  writes :  "  Tell  Lotte 
there  is  a  certain  maiden  here  whom  I  love  heartily, 
and  whom  I  would  choose  before  all  others  if  I  had 
any  thought  of  marriage,  and  she  also  was  born  on  the 
1 1  til  January.2  It  would  be  pretty :  such  a  pair ! 
Who  knows  what  God's  will  is  ? "  I  agree  with  Vie- 
hoff  against  Diintzer,  that  this  alludes  to  Anna  Antoi- 
nette Gerock,  a  relation  of  Schlosser's,  who  is  known 
to  have  loved  him  passionately,  and  to  have  furnished 
some  traits  for  Mignon.  Clear  it  is  that  he  is  not 
very  melancholy.  "  Yesterday  I  skated  from  sunrise 
to  sunset.  And  I  have  other  sources  of  joy  which  I 
can't  relate.  Be  comforted  that  I  am  almost  as  happy 
as  people  who  love,  like  you  two,  that  I  am  as  full  of 
hope,  and  that  I  have  lately  felt  some  poems.  My 
sister  greets  you,  my  maiden  also  greets  you,  my  gods 
greet  you."  Thus  we  see  that,  although  Lotte's  picture 
hangs  by  his  bedside,  although  her  image  hovers  cou- 

1 A  sister  of  Charlotte's. 
2  Lotte's  birthday. 


194  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF   GOETHE 

stantly  before  him,  and  the  teutscke  Haus  is  the  centre 
of  many  yearning  thoughts,  he  is  not  pining  despond- 
ently for  Charlotte.  He  has  rewritten  "  Gotz,"  and 
allowed  Merck  to  carry  it  to  the  printer's.  He  is 
living  in  a  very  merry  circle,  one  figure  in  which  is 
Antoinette  Gerock,  as  we  gather  from  a  letter  written 
in  February,  1773,  a  mouth  after  that  in  which  he 
refers  to  his  "  maiden."  Here  is  the  passage :  "  At 
Easter  I  will  send  you  a  quite  adventurous  novelty.^ 
My  maiden  gi'eets  Lotte.  In  character  she  has  much 
of  Lenchen,  and  my  sister  says  resembles  her  portrait. 
If  we  were  but  as  much  in  love  as  you  two  —  mean- 
while I  will  call  her  my  '  dear  little  wife,'  for  recently 
she  fell  to  me  in  a  lottery  as  my  wife."  She  was  then 
only  fifteen ;  their  relation  to  each  other  will  be 
described  in  Chapter  VI. 

And  now  the  day  approaches  when  Lotte  is  to  be 
married  and  leave  Wetzlar.  Goethe  writes  to  her 
brother  Hans,  begging  him,  when  Lotte  departs,  to 
write  at  least  once  a  week,  that  the  connection  with 
the  teutscke  Haus  may  not  be  broken,  although  its 
jewel  is  carried  away.  He  writes  to  Kestner  to  be 
allowed  to  get  the  wedding-ring.  "  I  am  wholly  yours, 
but  from  henceforth  care  not  to  see  you  nor  Lotte. 
Her  portrait  too  shall  away  from  my  bedroom  the  day 
of  her  marriage,  and  shall  not  be  restored  till  I  hear 
she  is  a  mother :  and  from  that  moment  a  new  epoch 
begins,  in  which  I  shall  not  love  her,  but  her  children, 
a  little  indeed  on  her  account,  but  that's  nothing  to  do 
with  it ;  and  if  you  ask  me  to  be  godfather,  my  spirit 
shall  rest  upon  the  boy,  and  he  sliall  make  a  fool  of 
himself  for  a  maiden  like  his  mother."  Enclosed  was 
this  note  to  Lotte :  "  May  my  memory  with  this  ring 
for  ever  remain  with  you  in  your  happiness.  Dear 
Lotte,  some  time  hence  we  shall  see  each  other  again, 
you  with  this  ring  on  your   finger,  and  I  as  always 

i"Gotz." 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  195 

thine.  I  know  no  name  or  bye-name  to  sign  this  with. 
You  know  me."  When  the  marriage  takes  place  he 
writes  to  Kestner :  "  God  bless  you  ;  you  have  sur- 
prised me.  I  had  meant  to  make  a  holy  sepulchre  on 
Good  Friday,  and  bury  Lotte's  portrait.  But  it  hangs 
still  by  my  bed  and  shall  remain  there  till  I  die.  Be 
happy.  Greet  for  me  your  angel,  and  Lenchen ;  she 
shall  be  the  second  Lotte,  and  it  shall  be  as  well  with 
her.  I  wander  in  the  desert  where  no  water  is,  my 
hair  is  my  shade,  and  my  blood  my  spring."  The 
bridesmaid  brings  him  the  bridal  bouquet,  a  flower  of 
which  he  sticks  in  his  hat,  as  he  w^alks  to  Darmstadt, 
in  a  melancholy  mood ;  but  to  show  that  his  passion 
for  Charlotte  was  after  all  only  a  poetic  passion,  here 
is  a  passage  in  the  letter  he  sent  to  Kestner  immedi- 
ately after  the  marriage  :  "  0  Kestner,  when  have  I 
envied  you  Lotte  in  the  human  sense  ?  for  not  to  envy 
you  her  in  the  spiritual  sense  I  must  be  an  angel  with- 
out luniks  and  hver.  Nevertheless  I  must  disclose  a 
secret  to  you.  That  you  may  know  and  behold. 
When  I  attached  myself  to  Lotte,  and  you  know  that 
I  was  attached  to  her  from  my  heart.  Born  talked  to 
me  about  it,  as  people  are  ivont  to  talk.  '  If  I  were  K. 
I  should  not  like  it.  How  can  it  end  ?  You  quite  cut 
him  out ! '  and  the  like.  Then  I  said  to  him  in  these 
very  words,  in  his  room,  it  was  in  the  morning :  *  The 
fact  is,  I  am  fool  enough  to  think  the  girl  something 
remarkable ;  if  she  deceived  me,  and  turned  out  to  be 
as  girls  usually  are,  and  used  K.  as  capital  in  order  to 
make  the  most  of  her  charms,  the  first  moment  which 
discovered  that  to  me,  the  first  moment  which  brought 
her  nearer  to  me,  would  be  the  last  of  our  acquaint- 
ance,' and  this  I  protested  and  swore.  And  between 
ourselves,  without  boasting,  I  understand  the  girl 
somewhat,  and  you  know  how  I  have  felt  for  her  and 
for  everything  she  has  seen  and  touched,  and  wherever 
she  has  been,  and  shall  continue  to  feel  to  the  end  of 


196  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

the  world.  And  now  see  how  far  I  am  envious,  and 
must  be  so.  For  either  I  am  a  fool,  which  is  difficult 
to  believe,  or  she  is  the  subtlest  deceiver,  or  then  — 
Lotte,  the  very  Lotte  of  whom  we  are  speaking."  A 
few  days  afterward  he  writes :  "  My  poor  existence  is 
petrified  to  barren  rock.  This  summer  I  lose  all. 
Merck  goes.     My  sister  too.     And  I  am  alone." 

The  marriage  of  Cornelia,  his  much-loved  sister,  was 
to  him  a  very  serious  matter,  and  her  loss  was  not 
easily  supplied.  It  came,  too,  at  a  time  when  other 
losses  pained  him.  Lotte  was  married,  Merck  was 
away,  and  a  dear  friend  had  just  died.  Nevertheless, 
he  seems  to  have  been  active  in  plans.  Among  them 
was  most  probably  that  of  a  drama  on  •'  Mahomet," 
which  he  erroneously  places  at  a  later  period,  after 
the  journeys  with  Lavater  and  Basedow,  but  which 
Scliiifer,  very  properly,  restores  to  the  year  1773,  as 
Boie's  "  Annual  "  for  1774  contains  "  Mahomet's  Song." 
Goethe  has  narrated  in  full  the  conception  of  this 
piece,  which  is  very  grand.  He  tells  us  the  idea  arose 
within  him  of  illustrating  the  sad  fact,  noticeable  in 
the  biographies  of  genius,  that  every  man  who  attempts 
to  realise  a  great  idea  comes  in  contact  with  the  lower 
world,  and  must  place  himself  on  its  level  in  order  to 
influence  it,  and  thus  compromise  his  higher  aims,  and 
finally  forfeit  them.  He  chose  Mahomet  as  the  illus- 
tration, never  having  regarded  him  as  an  impostor. 
He  had  carefully  studied  the  Koran  and  Mahomet's 
life,  in  preparation.  "  The  piece,"  he  says,  "  opened 
with  a  hymn  sung  by  Mahomet  alone  under  the  open 
sky.  He  first  adores  the  innumerable  stars  as  so  many 
gods ;  but  as  the  star  god  (Jupiter)  rises,  he  offers  to 
him,  as  the  king  of  the  stars,  exclusive  adoration.  Soon 
after,  the  moon  ascends  the  horizon,  and  claims  the 
eye  and  heart  of  the  worshipper,  who,  refreshed  and 
strengthened  by  the  dawning  sun,  is  afterward  stimu- 
lated   to    new  praises.     lUit    these    changes,  however 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  197 

delightful,  are  still  unsatisfactory,  and  the  mind  feels 
that  it  must  rise  still  higher,  and  mounts  therefore  to 
God,  the  One  Eternal,  Infinite,  to  whom  all  these 
splendid  but  finite  creatures  owe  their  existence.  I 
composed  this  hymn  with  great  delight ;  it  is  now  lost, 
but  might  easily  be  restored  as  a  cantata,  and  is 
adapted  for  music  by  the  variety  of  its  expression. 
Tt  would,  however,  be  necessary  to  imagine  it  sung 
according  to  the  original  plan,  by  the  leader  of  a 
caravan  with  his  family  and  tribe ;  and  thus  the  alter- 
nation of  the  voices  and  the  strength  of  the  chorus 
would  be  secure. 

"  Mahomet,  converted,  imparts  these  feelings  and 
sentiments  to  his  friends ;  his  wife  and  Ali  become 
unconditional  disciples.  In  the  second  act,  he  attempts 
to  propagate  this  faith  in  the  tribe ;  Ali  still  more 
zealously.  Assent  and  opposition  display  themselves 
according  to  the  variety  of  character.  The  contest 
begins,  the  strife  becomes  violent,  and  Mahomet  flies. 
In  the  third  act,  he  defeats  his  enemies,  makes  his 
religion  the  public  one,  and  purifies  the  Kaaba  from 
idols ;  but  this  being  impracticable  by  force,  he  is 
obliged  to  resort  to  cunning.  What  in  his  character 
is  earthly  increases  and  develojjs  itself;  the  divine 
retires  and  is  obscured.  In  the  fourth  act,  Mahomet 
pursues  his  conquests,  his  doctrine  becomes  a  means 
rather  than  an  end,  all  kinds  of  practices  are  employed, 
nor  are  horrors  wanting.  A  woman,  whose  husband 
has  been  condemned  by  Mahomet,  poisons  him.  In 
the  fifth  act  he  feels  that  he  is  poisoned.  His  great 
calmness,  the  return  to  himself  and  to  his  better 
nature,  make  him  worthy  of  admiration.  He  purifies 
his  doctrine,  establishes  his  kingdom,  and  dies. 

"  This  sketch  long  occupied  my  mind ;  for,  according 
to  my  custom,  I  was  obliged  to  let  the  conception 
perfect  itself  before  I  commenced  the  execution.  All 
that  genius,  through  character  and  intellect,  can  exer- 


198  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

cise  over  mankind,  was  therein  to  be  represented,  and 
what  it  gains  and  loses  in  the  process.  Several  of  the 
songs  to  be  introduced  in  the  drama  vi^ere  rapidly  com- 
posed ;  the  only  one  remaining  of  them,  however,  is 
'  Mahomet's  Gesang.'  This  was  to  be  sung  by  Ali, 
in  honour  of  his  master,  at  the  apex  of  his  success, 
just  before  the  change  resulting  from  the  poison." 

Of  all  his  unrealised  schemes,  this  causes  me  the 
greatest  regret.  In  grandeur,  depth,  and  in  the  oppor- 
tunities for  subtle  psychological  unravelment  of  the 
mysteries  of  our  nature,  it  was  a  scheme  pecuharly 
suited  to  his  genius.  How  many  "  Clavigos  "  and  "  Stel- 
las "  would  one  not  have  given  for  such  a  poem  ? 

Maximiliane  Laroche  had  recently  married  Brentano, 
a  Frankfort  merchant,  a  widower,  many  years  her 
senior,  with  five  children.  Goethe  became  intimate 
at  their  house ;  and,  as  Merck  writes,  "  il  joue  avec 
les  enfans  et  accompagne  le  clavecin  de  madame  avec 
la  basse.  M.  Brentano,  quoique  assez  jaloux  pour  un 
Italien,  I'aime  et  veut  absolument  qu'il  fr^queute  la 
maison."  The  husband  wanted  his  presence,  often  as  an 
umpire  in  the  disputes  with  his  wife  ;  and  the  wife,  also, 
chose  him  umpire  in  her  disputes  with  lier  husband ; 
nay,  Merck  hints,  "il  a  la  petite  madame  Brentano 
a  consoler  sur  I'odeur  de  I'huile,  du  fromage,  et  des 
manieres  de  son  mari."  So  passed  autumn  and  winter, 
in  a  tender  relation,  such  as  in  those  days  was  thought 
blameless  enough,  but  such  as  modern  writers  cannot 
believe  to  have  been  so  blameless.  For  my  part,  I 
cannot  disbelieve  his  own  word  on  this  matter,  when 
he  says,  "  My  former  relation  to  the  young  wife,  which 
was,  properly  speaking,  only  that  of  a  brother  to  a 
sister,  was  resumed  after  marriage.  Being  of  her  own 
age,  I  was  the  only  one  in  whom  she  heard  an  echo 
of  those  voices  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed  in 
her  youth.  We  Hved  in  childish  confidence ;  and, 
although   there  ivas  nothing  passionate  in  our  inter- 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  199 

course^  it  was  painful,  because  she  was  unable  to  recon- 
cile herself  to  her  new  condition."  If  not  passionate, 
the  relation  was  certainly  sentimental  and  dangerous. 
Hear  how  he  writes  to  Frau  Jacobi :  "  It  goes  well 
with  me,  dear  lady,  and  thanks  for  your  double,  triple 
letter.  The  last  three  weeks  there  has  been  nothing 
but  excitement,  and  now  we  are  as  contented  and 
happy  as  possible.  I  say  we,  for  since  the  15th  of 
January  not  a  branch  of  my  existence  has  been  soli- 
tary. And  Fate,  which  I  have  so  often  vituperated, 
is  now  courteously  entitled  beautiful,  wise  Fate,  for 
since  my  sister  left  me,  this  is  the  first  gift  that  can 
be  called  an  equivalent.  The  Max  is  still  the  same 
augel  whose  simple  and  darling  quahties  draw  all 
hearts  toward  her,  and  the  feeling  I  have  for  her  — 
wherein  her  husband  would  find  cause  for  jealousy 
—  now  makes  the  joy  of  my  existence.  Brentano  is 
a  worthy  fellow,  with  a  frank,  strong  character,  and 
not  without  sense.  The  children  are  lively  and  good." 
An  anecdote,  related  by  his  mother  to  Bettina,  gives 
us  an  amusing  picture  of  him  parading  before  Max. 
The  morning  was  bright  and  frosty.  "  Wolfgang  burst 
into  the  room  where  his  mother  was  seated  with  some 
friends :  '  Mother,  you  have  never  seen  me  skate,  and 
the  weather  is  so  beautiful  to-day.'  I  put  on  my 
crimson  fur  cloak,  which  had  a  long  train,  and  was 
closed  in  front  by  golden  clasps,  and  we  drove  out. 
There  skated  my  son,  like  an  arrow  among  the  groups. 
The  wind  had  reddened  his  cheeks,  and  blown  the 
powder  out  of  his  brown  hair.  When  he  saw  my 
crimson  cloak  he  came  toward  our  carriage  and  smiled 
coaxingly  at  me.  '  Well,'  said  I,  '  what  do  you  want  ? ' 
'  Come,  mother,  you  can't  be  cold  in  the  carriage,  give 
me  your  cloak.'  '  You  won't  put  it  on,  will  you  ? ' 
'  Certainly.'  I  took  it  off,  he  put  it  on,  threw  the  train 
over  his  arm,  and  away  he  went  over  the  ice  like  a 
son    of   the    gods.     Oh,    Bettina,    if   you    could  have 


2  00  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

seen  him!  Anything  so  beautiful  is  not  to  be  seen 
now!  I  clapped  my  hands  for  joy.  Never  shall  I 
forget  him,  as  he  darted  out  from  under  one  arch  of 
the  bridge  and  in  again  under  the  other,  the  wind 
carrying  the  train  behind  him  as  he  flew !  Your 
mother,  Bettina,  was  on  the  ice,  and  all  this  was  to 
please  her." 

No  thought  of  suicide  in  that  breast ! 

Quite  in  keeping  with  this  anecdote  is  the  spirit  of 
the  satirical  farce, "  Gotter,  Helden  und  Wieland,"  which 
is  alluded   to  in  this  passage  of  a  letter  to  Kestner, 
May,  1774,  and  must  therefore  have  been  written  some 
time  before :  "  My  rough  joke  against  Wieland  makes 
more  noise  than  I  thought.     He  behaves  very  well  in 
the  matter,  as  I  hear,  so  that  I  am  in  the  wrong." 
The  origin  of  this  farce  was  a  strong  feeling  in  the 
circle  of  Goethe's  friends,  that  Wieland  had  modern- 
ised, misrepresented,  and  traduced  the  Grecian  gods 
and   heroes.     One    Sunday    afternoon   "the   rage    for 
dramatising  everything"  seized  him,  and  with  a  bottle 
of  Burgundy  by  his  side  he  wrote  off  the  piece  just 
as  it  stands.     The  friends  were  in  raptures  with  it. 
He  sent  it  to  Lenz,  then  at  Strasburg,  who  insisted  on 
its  at  once  being  printed.     After  some  demurring,  con- 
sent was  given,  and  at  Strasburg  the  work   saw  the 
light.     In  reading  it,  the  public,  unacquainted  with 
the  circumstances  and  the  mood  to  which  it  owed  its 
origin,  unacquainted  also  with  the  fact   of  its  never 
having  been   designed  for  publication,  felt  somewhat 
scandalised  at  its  fierceness  of  sarcasm.     But  in  truth 
there  was  no  mahce  in  it.     Flushed  with  the  insolence 
and  pride  of   wit,  he  attacked  a  poet  whom,  on  the 
whole,  lie  gi'eatly  loved  ;  and  Wieland  took  no  offence 
at  it,  but  reviewed  it  in  the  Tcvtfickc  Mcrcur,  recom- 
mending it  to  all  lovers  of  pas(|uinade,  pcrdjlagc,  and 
sarcastic  wit.     This  reminds  one  of  Socrates  standing 
up  in  the  theatre,  when  he  was  lampooned  by  Aris- 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  201 

tophanes,  that  the  spectators  might  behold  the  origi- 
nal of  the  sophist  they  were  hooting  ou  the  stage. 
"  Gotter,  Helden  und  Wieland  "  is  really  amusing,  and 
under  the  mask  of  its  buffoonery  contains  some  sound 
and  acute  criticism.^  The  peculiarity  of  it,  however, 
consists  in  its  attacking  Wieland  for  treating  heroes 
unheroically,  at  a  time  when,  from  various  parts  of 
Germany,  loud  voices  were  raised  against  Wieland,  as 
an  immoral,  an  unchristian,  nay,  even  an  atheistical 
writer.  Lavater  called  upon  Christians  to  pray  for 
this  sinner ;  theologians  forbade  their  followers  to  read 
his  works;  pulpits  were  loud  against  him.  In  1773 
the  whole  Klopstock  school  rose  against  him  ^  in  moral 
indignation,  and  burned  his  works  on  Klopstock's  birth- 
day. Very  different  w^as  Goethe's  ire.  He  saw  that 
the  gods  and  heroes  were  represented  in  perruques  and 
satin  breeches,  that  their  cheeks  were  rouged,  their 
thews  and  sinews  shrunk  to  those  of  a  petit-maitre ; 
and  against  such  a  conception  of  the  old  Pagan  life 
he  raised  his  voice. 

"  I  cannot  blame  you,"  he  writes  to  Kestner,  "  for 
living  in  the  world  and  making  acquaintances  amongst 
men  of  rank  and  influence.  Intercourse  with  the  great 
is  always  advantageous  to  him  who  knows  properly 
how  to  use  it.  I  honour  gunpowder  if  only  for  its 
power  of  bringing  me  a  bird  down  out  of  the  air.  .  .  . 
So  in  God's  name  continue,  and  don't  trouble  yourself 
about  the  opinions  of  others,  shut  your  heart  to  antag- 
onists as  to  flatterers.  ...  0  Kestner,  I  am  in  excel- 
lent spirits,  and  if  I  have  not  you  by  my  side,  yet  all 
the  dear  ones  are  ever  before  me.  The  circle  of  noble 
natures  is  the  highest  happiness  I  have  yet  achieved. 
And  now,  my  dear  '  Gcitz,'  I  trust  in  his  strong  nature, 

lit  called  forth  a  retort,  ''Thiere,  Menschen  und  Goethe," 
which  has  not  fallen  in  my  way.  Critics  speak  of  it  as  personal, 
but  worthless. 

^Gervinus,  iv.  p.  285. 


202  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

he  will  endure.  He  is  a  human  offspring  with  many 
sins,  and  nevertheless  one  of  the  best.  Many  will 
object  to  his  clothing  and  rough  angles ;  yet  I  have 
so  much  applause  that  it  astonishes  me.  I  don't  think 
I  shall  soon  write  anything  which  will  again  find  its 
public.  Meanwhile  I  work  on,  in  the  hope  that  some- 
thing striking  in  the  whirl  of  things  may  be  laid 
hold  of." 

On  Christmas  Day,  1773,  in  answer  to  Kestner's 
wish  that  he  should  come  to  Hanover  and  play  a  part 
there,  he  writes  this  noticeable  sentence :  "  My  father 
would  not  object  to  my  entering  foreign  service,  and 
no  hope  or  desire  of  an  office  detains  me  here  —  but, 
dear  Kestner,  the  talents  and  "powers  whicli  I  have,  I 
need  too  much  for  my  own  aims ;  I  am  accustomed  to 
act  according  to  my  instinct,  and  therewith  can  no  prince 
he  served."  In  less  than  two  years  he  was  to  accept 
service  under  a  prince ;  but  we  shall  see  that  he  did 
so  with  full  consciousness  of  what  was  required,  and 
of  what  he  could  afford  to  give. 

The  mention  of  that  prince  leads  me  to  make  an 
important  correction  in  the  date  of  the  first  acquaint- 
ance with  him,  erroneously  placed  in  the  December  of 
1774  by  Goethe.  It  is  useless  to  inquire  how  Goethe's 
memory  could  have  so  deceived  him  as  to  bring  this 
important  event  in  conjunction  with  his  first  acquaint- 
ance with  Lili ;  the  dates  of  the  Kuebel  correspondence 
are  beyond  question.  On  the  11th  February,  Knebel 
paid  him  a  visit,  and  informed  him  that  the  two  princes, 
Karl  August  and  Constantino,  were  desirous  of  seeing 
him.  He  went,  and  was  received  with  flattering  kind- 
ness, especially  by  Karl  August,  who  had  just  read 
"  Gcitz."  He  dined  with  lii.s  royal  hosts  in  a  quiet  way, 
and  left  them,  having  received  and  produced  an  agree- 
able impression.  They  were  going  to  Mainz,  whither 
he  promised  to  follow  them.  His  fatlier,  hke  a  sturdy 
old  burgher  who  held  aloof  from  princes,  shook  his 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  203 

skeptical  head  at  the  idea  of  this  visit.  To  Mainz, 
however,  the  poet  went  a  day  or  two  afterward,  and 
spent  several  days  with  the  young  princes,  as  their 
guest.    This  was  his  first  contact  with  men  of  liigh  rank. 

In  the  following  May  he  liears  with  joy  that  Lotte 
is  a  mother,  and  that  her  boy  is  to  be  caUed  Wolfgang 
after  him  ;  and  on  the  16th  of  June  he  writes  to  Lotte : 
"  I  will  soon  send  you  a  friend  who  has  much  resem- 
blance to  me,  and  hope  you  will  receive  him  well ;  he 
is  named  Werther,  and  is  and  was  —  but  that  he  nmst 
himself  explain." 

Whoever  has  followed  the  history  thus  far,  moving 
on  the  secure  ground  of  contemporary  document,  will 
see  how  vague  and  inaccurate  is  the  account  of  the 
compositicn  of  "  Werther  "  given  by  its  author,  in  his 
retrospective  narrative.  It  was  not  originated  by  grow- 
ing despair  at  the  loss  of  Charlotte.  It  was  not  origi- 
nated by  tormenting  thoughts  of  self-destruction.  It 
was  not  to  free  himself  from  suicide  that  he  wrote  this 
story  of  suicide.  All  these  several  threads  were  woven 
into  its  woof ;  but  the  rigour  of  dates  forces  us  to  the 
conviction  that  "  Werther,"  although  taken  from  his 
experience,  was  not  written  while  that  experience  was 
being  undergone.  Indeed,  the  true  pliilosophy  of  art 
would,  a  jyriori,  lead  us  to  the  conviction  that,  although 
he  cleared  his  "  bosom  of  the  perilous  stuff  "  by  mould- 
ing this  perilous  stuff  into  a  work  of  art,  he  must  have 
essentially  outlived  the  storm  before  he  painted  it, 
—  conquered  his  passion,  and  subdued  the  rebellious 
thoughts,  before  he  made  them  plastic  to  his  purpose. 
The  poet  cannot  see  to  write  when  his  eyes  are  full  of 
tears ;  cannot  sing  when  his  breast  is  swollen  with 
sighs,  and  sobs  choke  utterance.  He  must  rise  supe- 
rior to  his  grief  before  he  can  sublimate  his  grief  in 
song.  The  artist  is  a  master,  not  a  slave ;  he  wields 
his  passion,  he  is  not  hurried  along  by  it ;  he  possesses, 
and  is  not  possessed.     Art  enshrines  the  great  sadness 


204  LIFE  AND  WORKS   OF  GOETHE 

of  the  world,  but  is  itself  uot  sad.  The  storm  of  pas- 
sion weeps  itself  away,  and  the  heavy  clouds  roll  off  iu 
quiet  masses,  to  make  room  for  the  suu,  which,  iu  shiu- 
iug  through,  touches  them  to  beauty  with  its  rays. 
While  paiu  is  iu  its  newness,  it  is  pain  and  nothing 
else;  it  is  not  Art,  but  Feeling.  Goethe  could  not 
write  "Werther"  before  he  had  outlived  Wertherism. 
It  may  have  been,  as  he  says,  a  "  general  confession," 
and  a  confession  which  brought  him  certain  rehef ;  but 
we  do  not  confess  until  we  have  repented,  and  we  do 
repent  until  we  have  outlived  the  error. 

"  Werther "  was  written  rapidly.  "  I  completely 
isolated  myself,"  he  says ;  "  nay,  prohibited  the  \isits 
of  my  friends,  and  put  aside  everything  that  did  not 
immediately  belong  to  the  subject.  Under  such  cir- 
cumstances, and  under  so  many  preparations  in  secret, 
I  wi'ote  it  in  four  weeks,  without  any  scheme  of  the 
whole,  or  treatment  of  any  part,  being  previously  put 
on  paper."  It  is  of  this  seclusion  Merck  writes :  "  Le 
grand  succes  que  son  drame  a  eu  lui  tourne  un  peu  la 
tete.  II  se  detache  de  tons  ses  amis,  et  n'existe  que 
dans  les  compositions  qu'il  prepare  pour  le  public." 

It  is  a  matter  of  some  interest  to  ascertain  the  exact 
truth  respecting  the  date  of  the  composition  of  "  Wer- 
ther." As  before  stated,  his  own  account  is  manifestly 
inaccurate ;  and  the  only  thing  which  renders  it  dith- 
cult  to  assign  the  date  with  tolerable  precision,  is  his 
statement  that  it  was  written  in  four  weeks  without 
any  scheme  of  the  whole  or  treatment  of  any  part  hav- 
ing been  previously  put  on  paper.  If  we  consent  to 
believe  that  his  memory  in  this  case  deceived  him,  the 
correspondence  of  the  period  furnishes  hmts  from 
whi(^h  we  may  conclude  that  in  1772,  on  the  arrival 
of  the  news  about  Jerusalem's  suicide,  he  made  a  gen- 
eral sketch,  either  in  his  mind  or  on  paper  ;  and  that 
during  the  following  year  he  worked  at  it  from  time  to 
time.     In  June,  1773,  he  writes  to  Kestner:    "And 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  205 

thus  I  dream  and  ramble  through  life,  •writing  plays 
and  novels,  and  the  hke."  In  July  he  writes :  "  I  am 
working  my  own  situation  into  art  for  the  consolation 
of  gods  and  men.  I  know  what  Lotte  will  say  when 
she  sees  it,  and  I  know  what  I  shall  answer  her."  The 
word  in  the  original  is  Schauspicl  —  play,  drama; 
Yiehoff  suggests  that  he  does  not  mean  drama,  but  a 
work  which  will  bring  his  situation  zur  Schau  —  before 
the  public  eye.  In  September  of  the  same  year,  he 
WTites :  "  You  are  always  by  me  when  I  write.  At 
present,  I  am  working  at  a  novel,  but  it  gets  on  slowly." 
In  November  Frau  Jacobi  writes  to  him,  acknowledg- 
ing the  receipt  of  a  novel,  in  manuscript  no  doubt, 
which  delights  her.  In  February,  1774,  Merck  writes 
of  him :  "  Je  prevois  qu'un  roman,  qui  paraitra  de  lui 
a  paques,  sera  aussi  bieu  regu  que  son  drame."  As 
we  have  nowhere  a  hint  of  any  other  novel,  besides 
"  "\Yerther,"  at  this  epoch,  it  is  difficult  to  resist  the 
e\-idence  of  these  dates ;  and  we  must,  therefore,  con- 
clude that  the  assertion  in  the  Autobiography  is  wholly 
inexact. 

In  September,  1774,  he  wrote  to  Lotte,  sending  her  a 
copy  of  "  Werther : "  "  Lotte,  how  dear  this  little  book 
is  to  me  thou  wilt  feel  in  reading  it,  and  this  copy  is 
as  dear  to  me  as  if  it  were  the  only  one  in  the  world. 
Thou  must  have  it,  Lotte ;  I  have  kissed  it  a  hundred 
times ;  have  kept  it  locked  up  that  no  one  might  touch 
it.  O  Lotte!  And  I  beg  thee  let  no  one  except 
Meyers  see  it  yet ;  it  will  be  published  at  the  Leipsic 
fair.  I  wish  each  to  read  it  alone ;  thou  alone,  — 
Kestner  alone,  —  and  each  to  write  me  a  Httle  word 
about  it.     Lotte,  adieu,  Lotte ! " 

Let  us  now  take  a  glance  at  this  work,  which  startled 
Europe,  and  which  for  a  long  while  was  all  that  Europe 
knew  of  Goethe.^ 

1  Scott,  in  prefacing  his  translation  of  "Gotz,"  says  :  "It  was 
WTitten  by  tlie  elegant  author  of  the  "  Sorrows  of  "Werther." 


CHAPTEE   Y. 

WERTHER. 

Aujourd'hui  lliovvmc  desire  immensement,  mais  il 
veut  faihkment :  in  these  words  Guizot  has  written  an 
epigraph  for  "Werther;"  a  book  composed  out  of  a 
double  history,  the  history  of  its  author's  experience, 
and  the  history  of  one  of  his  friends. 

The  story  of  Jerusalem,  whom  he  met  in  the  Wetz- 
lar  circle,  furnished  Goethe  with  the  machinery  by 
which  to  introduce  his  own  experience.  He  took 
many  of  the  details  from  Kestner's  long  letter,  sent 
shortly  after  the  catastrophe :  the  letter  may  therefore 
be  here  abridged,  as  an  introduction  to  the  novel 
Jerusalem,  melancholy,  by  temperament,  was  unhappy 
during  the  whole  of  his  Wetzlar  residence.  He  had 
been  denied  admittance  into  the  high  diplomatic 
society  to  which  his  position  gave  him  claims;  he 
had  been  in  unpleasant  relations  with  his  ambassador, 
whose  secretary  he  was;  and  he  had  fallen  in  love 
with  the  wife  of  his  friend.  Thus  oppressed,  he 
shunned  company,  was  fond  of  long  moonhght  walks, 
and  once  lost  himself  in  the  wood,  wandering  about 
the  whole  night.  But  lie  was  sohtary,  even  in  his 
grief,  told  none  of  his  friends  the  causes  of  his  melau- 
cboly,  and  solaced  himself  with  novels  —  the  wretched 
novels  of  that  day.  To  these  he  added  all  the  tragedies 
he  could  get  hold  of;  Enghsh  writers,  especially  the 
gloomy  writers  ;  and  various  philosopliical  works.  He 
wrote   also   essays,   one    on    suicide,  a   subject   which 

206 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  207 

greatly  occupied  him.  Mendelssohn's  "  Phaedon  "  was 
his  favourite  work.^  Wlien  the  rumour  reached  Wetz- 
lar  of  Goue's  suicide,  he  said  that  Go\i6  was  not  a  fit 
man  for  such  a  deed,  but  defended  the  act.  A  few 
days  before  his  own  unhappy  end  he  was  talking  with 
Schleimitz  about  suicide,  and  said,  "  It  would  be  a  bad 
look  out,  however,  if  the  shot  were  not  to  take  effect ! " 
The  rest  of  the  narrative  must  be  told  in  Kestner's 
own  words,  the  simple  circumstantial  style  best  fitting 
such  a  history. 

"  Last  Tuesday  he  comes  with  a  discontented  look 
to  Kielmansegge,  who  was  ill.  The  latter  asks  how 
he  is.  '  Better  than  I  like  to  be.'  He  also  that  day 
talked  a  good  deal  about  love,  which  he  had  never 
done  before ;  and  then  about  the  Frankfurter  Zeitung, 
which  had  for  some  time  pleased  him  more  than  usual. 
In  the  afternoon  (Tuesday)  he  goes  to  Secretary  H.'s. 
Until  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  they  play  tarock 
together.  Annchen  Brandt  was  also  there  ;  Jerusalem 
accompanied  her  home.  As  they  walk,  Jerusalem  often 
strikes  his  forehead,  gloomily  and  repeatedly  says :  '  If 
one  were  but  dead  —  if  one  were  but  in  heaven  ! ' 
Annchen  joked  liim  about  it;  he  bargains  for  a  place 
by  her  side  in  heaven,  and  at  parting  he  says :  '  It  is 
agreed,  then,  that  I  shall  have  a  place  by  you  in 
heaven.' 

"  On  Wednesday,  as  there  were  great  doings  at  the 
*  Crown  Prince,'  and  everybody  invited  everybody,  he 
went  there  to  dinner,  though  he  generally  dined  at 
home,  and  he  brought  Secretary  H.  with  him.  He 
did  not  behave  there  otherwise  than  usual ;  if  any- 
thing, he  was  more  cheerful.  After  dinner.  Secretary 
H.  takes  him  home  with  him  to  see  his  wife.  They 
take  coffee ;  Jerusalem  says  to  Mrs.  H. :  '  Dear  Mrs. 
H.,  this  is  the  last  coffee  I  shall  drink  with  you.'     She 

1  Goethe,  it  will  be  remembered,  in  Strasburg,  made  an  analysis 
of  this  work,  contrasting  it  with  Plato's. 


2o8  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

thinks  it  a  joke,  and  answers  in  that  tone.  The  same 
afternoon  (Wednesday)  Jerusalem  was  alone  at  H.'s : 
what  took  place  there  is  unknown  ;  perhaps  herein  lies 
the  cause  of  what  followed.  In  the  evening,  just  as  it 
was  dark,  Jerusalem  comes  to  Garbenheim,  into  the 
usual  inn,  asks  whether  any  one  is  in  the  room  above. 
On  the  answer,  No,  he  goes  up,  soon  comes  down 
again,  goes  out  into  the  yard,  toward  the  left,  comes 
hack  after  a  little  while,  goes  into  the  garden ;  it  gets 
quite  dark ;  he  remains  there  a  long  time,  the  hostess 
makes  her  remarks  upon  this,  he  comes  out  of  the 
garden,  goes  past  her  with  hasty  steps,  all  without 
saying  a  word,  into  the  yard,  hurrying  straight  away 
from  it. 

"  In  the  meantime,  or  still  later,  something  passed 
between  H.  and  his  wife,  concerning  which  H.  confides 
to  a  female  friend  that  they  quarrelled  a  little  about 
Jerusalem ;  and  liis  wife  at  last  desired  that  he  would 
forbid  him  the  house,  whereupon  he  did  so  the  follow- 
ing day,  in  a  note. 

"[It  is  said^  that  Secretary  II.  has  given  secret 
information  that  on  the  Wednesday  before  Jerusalem's 
death,  when  he  was  with  H.  and  his  wife  taking  coffee, 
the  husband  w^as  obliged  to  go  to  the  ambassador. 
When  he  returns,  he  observes  an  extraordinary  serious- 
ness in  his  wife,  and  a  silence  in  Jerusalem,  which 
appear  strange  to  him,  especially  as  he  finds  them  so 
nuich  changed  after  his  return.  Jerusalem  goes  away. 
Secretary  H.  makes  his  observations  on  the  above- 
mentioned  circumstances:  he  suspects  that  something 
injurious  to  him  may  have  happened  in  liis  absence ; 
for  lie  is  very  suspicious  and  jealous.  Nevertheless, 
he  puts  on  a  composed  and  cheerful  air,  and  deter- 
mines to  put  his  wife  to  the  test.  He  says:  Jerusalem 
has  often  invited  him  to  dinner ;  what  does  she  think 

*  Tlie  pa.ssage  in  brackets  occurs  in  a  subsequent  letter ;  it  is 
inaerted  hero  to  give  tbe  story  continuity. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  209 

of  their  asking  Jerusalem  for  once  to  dine  with  them  ? 
She,  the  wife,  answers :  No ;  and  she  must  entirely 
break  oil'  intercourse  with  Jerusalem ;  he  begins  to 
behave  in  such  a  way  that  she  must  altogether  avoid 
his  society.  And  she  held  herself  bound  to  tell  him, 
her  husband,  what  had  passed  in  liis  absence.  Jerusa- 
lem had  thro^vn  himself  at  her  feet,  and  had  wanted 
to  make  a  formal  declaration  of  love  to  her.  She  was 
naturally  indignant  at  this,  and  had  uttered  many 
reproaches  to  him,  etc.  She  now  desired  that  her 
husband  would  forbid  him,  Jerusalem,  the  house,  for 
she  could  and  would  neither  see  nor  hear  anything 
more  of  him. 

"  Hereupon,  it  is  said,  H.  the  next  morning  wrote 
the  note  to  Jerusalem,  etc.] 

"  In  the  night  of  Wednesday-Thursday  he  got  up  at 
two  o'clock,  awakened  the  servant,  said  he  could  not 
sleep,  he  was  not  well,  has  a  fire  lighted,  tea  made,  yet 
is  afterward,  to  all  appearance,  very  well. 

"  Thursday  morning,  Secretary  H.  sends  Jerusalem 
a  note.  The  maid  will  not  wait  for  an  answer,  and 
goes  away.  Jerusalem  has  just  been  shaved.  At 
eleven  o'clock  Jerusalem  sends  a  note  to  Secretary  H., 
who  does  not  take  it  from  the  servant,  but  says  he 
requires  no  answer :  he  cannot  enter  into  any  corre- 
spondence, and  besides  they  see  each  other  every  day 
at  the  office.  Wlien  the  servant  brings  back  the  note 
unopened,  Jerusalem  throws  it  on  the  table  and  says : 
Very  good.  (Perhaps  to  make  tlie  servant  believe  that 
it  related  to  some  iudiri'erent  matter.) 

"  In  the  middle  of  the  day  he  dines  at  home,  but 
takes  little  —  some  soup.  At  one  o'clock  he  sends 
a  note  to  me,  and  at  the  same  time  one  to  his  ambas- 
sador, in  which  he  begs  the  latter  to  send  him  his 
money  for  this  (or  the  following)  month.  The  servant 
comes  to  me.  I  am  not  at  home,  nor  is  my  servant. 
Jerusalem  in  the  meantime  is  gone  out,  comes  home 


2IO  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

about  a  quarter-past  three,  the  servant  gives  him  the 
note  again.  Jerusalem  asks  him  why  he  did  not  leave 
it  at  my  house  with  some  maid  servant  ?  He  replies, 
because  it  was  open  and  unsealed.  Jerusalem :  That 
was  of  no  consequence,  every  one  might  read  it ;  he 
must  take  it  again.  The  servant  thinks  himself  hereby 
warranted  to  read  it  also,  reads  it,  and  then  sends  it 
by  a  boy  who  waits  in  the  house.  I,  in  the  meantime, 
had  come  home ;  it  might  be  half-past  three  when  I 
received  the  following  note :  '  Might  I  beg  of  you  to 
lend  me  your  pistols  for  a  journey  which  I  am  about 
to  take  ?  —  J.'  ^  As  I  knew  nothing  of  all  this  that  I 
have  told  you,  or  of  his  principles,  having  never  had 
any  particular  intercourse  with  him,  I  had  not  the 
least  hesitation  in  sending  him  the  pistols. 

"  The  servant  had  read  in  the  note  that  his  master 
intended  to  make  a  journey,  and  indeed  the  latter  had 
himself  told  him  so,  also  had  ordered  everything  for 
his  journey  the  next  morning  at  six  o'clock,  even  the 
friscur,  without  his  (the  servant's)  knowing  whither, 
or  with  whom,  or  in  what  way.  But  as  Jerusalem 
always  kept  his  engagements  secret  from  him,  this  did 
not  arouse  his  suspicion.  Nevertheless  he  thought  to 
himself :  '  Is  master  perhaps  going  secretly  to  liruns- 
wick,  leaving  me  here  alone  ? '  etc.  He  had  to  take 
the  pistols  to  a  gunmaker's  to  get  them  loaded. 

"  The  whole  afternoon  Jerusalem  was  busy  alone ; 
rummaged  among  his  papers,  wrote,  walked,  as  the 
people  below  in  the  house  heard,  rapidly  up  and  down 
the  room.  He  also  wont  out  several  times,  and  paid 
his  small  debts ;  he  had  taken  a  pair  of  ruiUes,  he  said 
to  the  servant ;  they  did  not  satisfy  him,  he  must 
return  them  to  the  tradesman ;  if  he  did  not  like  to  v 


'  ' '  Diirfe  ich  Ew.  Wohlgeb.  wohl  zu  einer  vorhabenden  Reise 
um  Hire  I'lstnlcn  gchorsavmt  ersurhen  f  ''  The  Geriuau  epistolary 
forms  of  civility  aro  uot  translatable. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  211 

take  them  again,  there  was  the  money  for  them,  which- 
ever in  fact  the  tradesman  preferred. 

"About  seven  o'clock  the  Italian  master  came 
to  him.  He  found  him  restless  and  out  of  humour. 
He  complained  that  he  had  his  hypochondria  again 
strongly,  and  complained  about  various  things ;  said, 
also,  that  the  best  he  could  do  would  be  to  take 
himself  out  of  the  world.  The  Italian  urged  upon 
him  very  seriously  that  such  passions  must  be 
repressed  by  philosophy,  etc.  Jerusalem  :  That  is  not 
so  easily  done ;  he  would  rather  be  alone  to-day,  he 
might  leave  him,  etc.  The  Italian  :  He  must  go  into 
society,  amuse  himself,  etc.  Jerusalem :  Well,  he  was 
going  out  again.  The  Italian  seeing  the  pistols  on  the 
table,  is  anxious  about  the  result,  goes  away  at  eight 
o'clock,  and  calls  on  Kielmansegge,  to  whom  he  talks 
of  nothing  but  Jerusalem,  his  restlessness  and  discon- 
tent, without,  however,  mentioning  his  anxiety,  because 
he  beheved  that  he  might  be  laughed  at  for  it. 

"The  servant  went  to  Jerusalem  to  take  off  his 
boots.  But  he  said  he  was  going  out  again  ;  as  he 
really  did,  before  the  Silberthor  on  the  Starke  Weide 
and  elsewhere  in  the  streets,  where,  with  his  hat 
pressed  over  his  eyes,  he  rushed  by  several  persons, 
with  rapid  steps,  without  seeing  any  one.  He  was  also 
seen  about  this  time  standing  by  the  river,  in  a  position 
as  if  he  meant  to  throw  himself  in  (so  they  say). 

"  Before  nine  o'clock  he  comes  home,  says  to  the 
servant  that  there  must  be  more  fuel  put  in  the  stove, 
because  he  shall  not  go  to  bed  yet,  also  tells  him  to 
get  everything  ready  for  six  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  has  a  pint  of  wine  brought  to  him.  The  servant, 
that  he  may  be  ready  very  early,  because  his  master 
was  always  very  punctual,  goes  to  bed  in  his  clothes. 

"  As  soon  as  Jerusalem  was  alone,  he  seems  to  have 
prepared  everything  for  the  dreadful  deed.  He  tore 
up  his  correspondence  and  threw  it  under  the  table,  as 


2  12  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

I  have  myself  seen.  He  wrote  two  letters,  one  to  his 
relations,  the  other  to  H. ;  it  is  thought  also  that  he 
wrote  one  to  the  ambassador  Hoffler,  which  the  latter 
perhaps  suppresses.  They  lay  on  the  writing-table. 
The  first,  which  the  medical  man  saw  the  next  morn- 
ing, contained  in  substance  only  what  follows,  as 
Doctor  Held,  who  read  it,  related  to  me : 

" '  Dear  father,  dear  mother,  dear  sisters  and  brother- 
in-law,  forgive  your  unhappy  son  and  brother ;  God, 
God  bless  you  ! ' 

*'  In  the  second,  he  entreated  H.  for  forgiveness  that 
he  had  disturbed  the  peace  and  happiness  of  his  mar- 
ried life,  and  created  dissension  between  this  dear 
couple,  etc.  At  first  his  inclination  for  H.'s  wife  had 
been  only  virtuous,  etc.  It  is  said  to  have  been  three 
sheets  long,  and  to  have  ended  thus :  '  One  o'clock. 
In  the  other  life  we  shall  see  each  other  again.'  (In 
all  probabihty  he  shot  himself  immediately  on  finishing 
this  letter.) " 

The  sensation  produced  in  Wetzlar  by  this  suicide 
was  immense.  People  who  had  scarcely  seen  Jerusa- 
lem were  unable  to  quiet  their  agitation ;  many  could 
not  sleep ;  the  women  especially  felt  the  deepest 
interest  in  the  fate  of  this  unhappy  youth ;  and 
"  Werther  "  found  a  public  ready  for  it. 

With  these  materials  in  hand,  let  us  take  up  the 
novel  to  see  how  Goethe  employs  them.  Werther  is 
a  man  who,  not  having  yet  learned  self-mastery, 
imagines  that  his  immense  desires  are  proofs  of  im- 
mense superiority :  one  of  those  of  whom  it  has  been 
wittily  said  that  they  fancy  themselves  great  painters 
because  they  paint  with  a  big  brush.  He  laughs  at 
all  rules,  whether  they  be  rules  of  Art,  or  rules  which 
Convention  builds  like  walls  around  our  daily  life. 
He  hates  order  —  in  speech,  in  writing,  in  costume,  in 
office.  In  a  word,  he  liates  all  control.  Gervinus 
remarks  that  he  turns  from  men  to  children  because 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  213 

they  do  not  pain  him,  and  from  them  to  Nature 
because  she  does  not  contradict  him  ;  from  truth  to 
poetry,  and  in  poetry  from  the  clear  world  of  Homer 
to  the  formless  world  of  Ossian.  Very  characteristic 
of  the  epoch  is  the  boundless  enthusiasm  inspired  by 
Ossian,  whose  rhetorical  trash  the  Germans  hailed  as 
the  finest  expression  of  Nature's  poetry.  Old  Samuel 
Johnson's  stern,  clear  sense  saw  into  the  very  heart  of 
this  subject  when  he  said,  "  Sir,  a  man  might  write 
such  stuff  for  ever  if  he  would  but  abandon  his  mind 
to  it."  It  is  abandonment,  throwing  the  reins  on  the 
horse's  neck,  which  makes  such  writing  possible ;  and 
it  was  precisely  this  abandonment  to  impulse,  this 
disregard  of  the  grave  remonstrances  of  reason  and 
good  sense,  which  distinguished  the  Werther  epoch. 

Werther  is  not  Goethe.  Werther  perishes  because 
he  is  wretched,  and  is  wretched  because  he  is  so  weak. 
Goethe  was  "  king  over  himself."  He  saw  the  danger, 
and  evaded  it ;  tore  himself  away  from  the  woman  he 
loved,  instead  of  continuing  in  a  dangerous  position. 
Yet,  although  Werther  is  not  Goethe,  there  is  one  part 
of  Goethe  li\'ing  in  Werther.  This  is  visible  in  the 
incidents  and  language  as  well  as  in  the  character.  It 
is  the  part  we  see  reappearing  under  the  various  masks 
of  Weislingen,  Clavigo,  Faust,  Fernando,  Edward, 
Meister,  and  Tasso,  which  no  critic  will  call  the  same 
lay  figure  variously  draped,  but  which  every  critic 
must  see  belong  to  one  and  the  same  genus :  men  of 
strong  desires  and  w^eak  volitions,  wavering,  impres- 
sionable natures  unable  to  attain  self-mastery.  Goethe 
was  one  of  those  who  are  wavering  because  impres- 
sionable, but  whose  wavering  is  not  weakness ;  they 
oscillate,  but  they  return  into  the  direct  path  which 
their  wills  have  prescribed.  He  was  tender  as  well  as 
impressionable.  He  could  not  be  stern,  but  he  could 
be  resolute.  He  had  only  therefore,  in  imagiuation, 
to  keep  in   abeyance  the   native   force  of  resolution 


214  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

which  gave  him  mastery,  and  under  that  abeyance  a 
weak,  wavering  character  stood  before  him,  the  original 
of  which  was  himself. 

When  a  man  dehneates  himself,  he  always  shrinks 
from  a  complete  confession.  Our  moral  nature  has  its 
modesty.  Strong  as  the  impulse  may  be  to  drag  into 
ho-ht  that  which  lies  hidden  in  the  recesses  of  the 
soul,  pleased  as  we  may  be  to  create  images  of  our- 
selves, we  involuntarily  keep  back  something,  and 
refuse  to  identify  ourselves  with  the  creation.  There 
are  few  things  more  irritating  than  the  pretension  of 
another  to  completely  understand  us.  Hence  authors 
never  thoroughly  portray  themselves.  Byron,  utterly 
without  self-command,  is  fond  of  heroes  proud  and 
self-sustaining.  Goethe,  the  strongest  of  men,  makes 
heroes  the  footballs  of  circumstance.  But  he  also 
draws  from  his  other  half  the  calm,  self-sustaining 
characters.  Thus  we  have  the  antithesis  of  Gcitz  and 
Weislingen  —  Albert  and  Werther  —  Carlos  and  Cla- 
vigo  —  Jarno  and  Meister  —  Antonio  and  Tasso  —  the 
Captain  and  Edward ;  and,  deepened  in  colouring, 
Mephistopheles  and  Faust. 

"Werther"  is  not  much  read  nowadays,  especially 
in  England,  where  it  labours  under  the  double  disad- 
vantage of  a  bad  name  and  an  execrable  translation. 
Yet  it  is  well  worth  readiug  in  the  original,  where  it 
will  be  found  very  unlike  the  notion  of  it  current 
among  us.  I  remember  many  years  ago  reading  it  in 
the  English  version  with  astonishment  and  contempt ; 
this  contempt  remained,  until,  accidentally  falling  in 
with  a  Spanish  translation,  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the 
pictures  changed  my  feeling  into  admiration,  and 
Goethe's  own  wonderful  prose  afterward  fixed  that 
admiration  for  ever.  It  is  a  masterpiece  of  style ;  we 
may  look  through  German  literature  in  vain  for  such 
clear,  sunny  pictures,  fulness  of  life,  and  delicately 
managed  simplicity.     Its  style  is  one  continuous  strain 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  215 

of  music,  which,  restrained  within  the  limits  of  prose, 
fulfils  all  the  conditions  of  poetry ;  dulcet  as  the  sound 
of  falhug  water,  and  as  full  of  sweet  melancholy  as  an 
autumnal  eve. 

Nothing  can  be  simpler  than  the  structure  of  this 
book,  wherein,  as  M.  Marmier  well  remarks,^  every 
detail  is  so  arranged  as  to  lay  bare  the  sufiferings  of  a 
diseased  spirit.  Werther  arrives  at  his  chosen  retreat, 
believing  himself  cured,  and  anticipating  perfect  happi- 
ness. He  is  painter  and  poet.  The  fresh  spring  morn- 
ings, the  sweet  cool  evenings,  soothe  and  strengthen 
him.  He  selects  a  place  under  the  limes  to  read  and 
dream  away  the  hours.  There  he  brings  his  pencil 
and  his  Homer.  Everything  interests  him  —  the  old 
woman  who  brings  his  coffee,  the  children  who  play 
around  him,  the  story  of  a  poor  family.  In  this  serene 
convalescence  he  meets  with  Charlotte,  and  a  new 
passion  agitates  his  soul.  His  simple  uniform  exist- 
ence becomes  changed.  He  endeavours  by  bodily 
activity  to  charm  away  his  desires.  The  days  no 
longer  resemble  each  other:  now  ecstatic  with  hope, 
now  crushed  vdth  despair.  Winter  comes :  cold,  sad, 
gloomy.  He  must  away.  He  departs,  and  mingles  with 
the  world,  but  the  world  disgusts  him.  The  monotony 
and  emptiness  of  official  life  are  intolerable  to  his 
pretensions ;  the  parchment  pride  of  the  noblesse  is 
insulting  to  his  sense  of  superiority.  He  returns  to 
the  peaceful  scene  of  his  former  contentment,  and  finds 
indeed  Charlotte,  the  children,  his  favourite  woods  and 
walks,  but  not  the  calmness  which  he  seeks.  The 
hopelessness  of  his  position  overwhelms  him.  Dis- 
gusted with  the  world  —  unsatisfied  in  his  cravings  — 
he  dies  by  his  own  hand. 

Eoseukrantz  —  in  the  true  spirit  of  that  criticism 
which  seeks  everywhere  for  meanings  more  recondite 
than  the  author  dreamt  of  —  thinks  that  Goethe  ex- 

r 

1  "  Etudes  sur  Goethe,"  p.  11. 


2i6  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

hibits  great  art  in  making  "Werther  a  diplomatist, 
because  a  diplomatist  is  a  man  of  shams  (Scheinthuer) ; 
but  the  truth  is,  Goethe  made  him  precisely  what  he 
found  him.  His  art  is  truth.  He  is  so  great  an  artist 
that  the  simplest  realities  have  to  him  significance^ 
Charlotte  cutting  bread  and  butter  for  the  children  — 
the  scene  of  the  ball  —  the  children  clinging  round 
"Werther  for  sugar,  and  pictures  of  that  kind,  betray- 
so  little  inventive  power,  that  they  have  excited  the 
ridicule  of  some  English  critics  to  whom  poetry  is 
a  thing  of  pomp,  not  the  beautiful  vesture  of  reality. 
The  beauty  and  art  of  "  Werther  "  is  not  in  the  inci- 
dents (a  Dumas  would  shrug  despairing  shoulders 
over  such  invention),  but  in  the  representation.  What 
is  Art  but  Kepresentation  ?  ^ 

The  effect  of  "  Werther "  was  prodigious.  "  That 
nameless  unrest,"  says  Carlyle,  "  the  bhnd  struggle  of 
a  soul  in  bondage,  that  high,  sad,  longing  discontent 
which  was  agitating  every  bosom,  had  driven  Goethe 
almost  to  despair.  All  felt  it ;  he  alone  could  give  it 
voice.  And  here  lies  the  secret  of  his  popularity ;  in 
his  deep,  susceptive  heart  he  felt  a  thousand  times 
more  keenly  what  every  one  was  feeling;  with  the 
creative  gift  which  belonged  to  him  as  a  poet,  he 
bodied  it  forth  into  visible  shape,  gave  it  a  local  habi- 
tation and  a  name ;  and  so  made  himself  the  spokes- 
man of  his  generation.  '  Werther '  is  but  the  cry  of 
that  dim,  rooted  pain  under  which  all  thoughtful  men 
of  a  certain  age  were  languishing :  it  paints  the  misery, 
it  passionately  utters  the  complaint ;  and  heart  and 
voice  all  over  Europe  loudly  and  at  once  respond  to  it. 
True,  it  prescribes  no  remedy ;  for  that  was  a  far  differ- 
ent, far  harder  enterprise,  to  which  other  years  and  a 

^  "Z'art  n'est  qu'une  forme,'"  says  George  Sand,  with  a  truth 
few  critics  liave  penetrated  ;  let  me  add  Goethe's  own  opinion  — 
surely  of  weight  in  such  matters  :  "  None  will  comprcliend  the 
simple  truth  that  the  highest,  the  only  operation  of  art  is  form- 
giving"  {Gestaltung). 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  217 

higher  culture  were  required ;  but  even  this  utterance 
of  pain,  even  this  little,  for  the  present  is  grasped  at, 
ancl  with  eager  sympathy  appropriated  in  every  bosom. 
If  Byron's  life-weariness,  his  moody  melancholy,  and 
mad,  stormful  indignation,  borne  on  the  tones  of  a 
wild  and  quite  artless  melody,  could  pierce  so  deep 
into  many  a  British  heart,  now  that  the  whole  matter 
is  no  longer  new  —  is  indeed  old  and  trite  —  we  may 
judge  with  what  vehement  acceptance  this  '  Werther ' 
must  have  been  welcomed,  coming,  as  it  did,  hke  a 
voice  from  the  unknown  regions :  the  first  thrilling 
peal  of  that  impassioned  dirge  which,  in  country  after 
country,  men's  ears  have  listened  to  till  they  were 
deaf  to  all  else.  For  '  Werther,'  infusing  itself  into 
the  core  and  whole  spirit  of  literature,  gave  birth  to  a 
race  of  sentimentahsts  who  have  raged  and  wailed  in 
every  part  of  the  world,  till  the  better  light  dawned 
on  them,  or,  at  worst,  exhausted  nature  laid  herself  to 
sleep,  and  it  was  discovered  that  lamenting  was  unpro- 
ductive labour.  These  funereal  choristers,  in  Germany, 
a  loud,  haggard,  tumultuous,  as  well  as  tearful  class, 
were  named  the  Kraftmiinncr,  or  Powermen ;  but 
have  long  since,  like  sick  children,  cried  themselves 
to  rest."  1 

Perhaps  there  never  was  a  fiction  which  so  startled 
and  enraptured  the  world.  Men  of  all  kinds  and 
classes  were  moved  by  it.  It  was  the  companion  of 
Napoleon,  when  in  Egypt ;  it  penetrated  into  China. 
To  convey  in  a  sentence  its  wondrous  popularity,  we 
may  state  that  in  Germany  it  became  a  people's  book, 
hawked  about  the  streets,  printed  on  miserable  paper, 
like  an  ancient  ballad ;  and  in  the  Chinese  empire, 
Charlotte  and  Werther  were  modelled  in  porcelain.'^ 

1  "  Miscellanies,"  vol.  i.  p.  272. 

2  While  in  Italy,  he  received  a  letter  from  a  young  Frenchman, 
who  said  :  "  Oui,  Monsieiu",  je  vous  dois  la  meilleure  action  de  ma 
vie,  par  consequent,  la  racine  de  plusieurs  autres.  et  pour  moi 
votre  livre  est  bon.     Si  j'avais  le  bonheur  d'habiter  le  meme  pays 


2i8  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Objectors  of  course  there  were.  Lessing,  for  ex- 
ample, who  neither  suffered  from  the  disease  of  the 
epoch,  nor  tolerated  any  approach  to  sentimentality, 
thought  so  fiery  a  production  ought  to  have  a  cold 
epilogue  to  counteract  it.  "  Do  you  believe,"  he  wrote, 
"that  any  Roman  or  Grecian  youth  would  thus  and 
therefore  have  committed  suicide?  Certainly  not. 
They  knew  how  to  guard  themselves  from  the  ex- 
travagances of  love,  and  in  the  days  of  Socrates  such 
an  e|  IpwTos  KaTO)(r]  whoni  TL  ToX/xav  Traph.  <f>v(rLv  impelled, 
would  scarcely  be  pardoned  even  by  a  girl.  Such  little- 
gi-eat  questionable  originals  only  suit  our  Christian 
culture,  which  knows  so  well  how  to  transform  a  cor- 

que  vous,  j'irais  vous  embrasser,  et  vous  dire  mou  secret  ;  mais 
malheureusement  j'en  habite  ua  ou  persoiiiie  ue  croirait  au  motif 
qui  vient  de  me  determiner  k  cette  d^oiarclie.  Soyez  satisfait, 
Monsieur,  d'avoir  pu  k  trois  cents  lieues  de  votre  demeure  ramener 
le  coQur  d'un  jeune  liomme  k  Phonnetet^  et  k  la  vertu,  toute  une 
famiilo  va  etre  tranquiile,  et  mon  coeur  jouit  d'une  bonne  action." 

Let  me  not  forget  the  visit  of  bis  English  admirer,  who  ac- 
costed him  on  the  stairs  with  "  You  must  be  the  author  of 
'  Werther '  !  "  adding  that  he  could  not  wait  a  moment  longer,  all 
he  wanted  to  say  was  this,  "  I  will  not  repeat  what  you  must  have 
heard  from  thousands,  for  indeed  your  work  has  not  affected  me 
so  much  as  it  has  others  ;  but  when  I  think  what  it  required  to 
write  such  a  book,  1  am  lost  in  astonishment."  Having  eased  his 
mind  of  this  weight,  he  wished  Goethe  a  hearty  farewell,  and  ran 
down-stairs. 

A  similar  story  is  told  by  Schiller  in  a  letter  to  Korner.  "  A 
shrivelled  figure  entered  my  room  and  asked  me  if  I  was  not 
Councillor  Schiller.  I  replied  in  the  affirmative.  '  I  heard  that 
you  were  here,  and  could  not  restrain  myself  from  seeing  the 
author  of  "Don  Carlos."'  '  Gehorsamer  Diener !  your  most 
obedient  servant,'  said  I;  'whom  have  I  the  honour  of  address- 
ing?' 'I  have  not  the  happiness  of  being  known  to  you.  My 
na'rae  is  Vulpius.'  '  I  am  indebted  to  you  for  your  politeness  ; 
unluckily,  I  have  an  engagement.'  'Oh,  sir,  I  beg  you  won't 
mention  it.  I  am  quite  satisfied  with  having  seen  you.'"  — 
Brie/wechsel,  i.  p.  105. 

At  the  risk  of  .swelling  this  note  to  unreasonable  dimensions,  I 
mu.st  quote  a  passage  from  Pliny's  "Letters,"  which  records  a 
similar  anecdote  :  "  Nunquamne  legistiGaditanum  quemdam  Titi 
Livii  nomine  gloria(iue  commotum  ad  vi.sendum  eum  ab  ultimo 
tcrraruin  orbc  venisse,  statimque  ut  viderat  abiisse  ? "  —  Lib. 
ii.  Ep.  iii. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  219 

poreal  necessity  into  a  spiritual  perfection.  So,  worthy 
Goethe,  let  us  have  a  concluding  chapter ;  and  the 
more  cynical  the  better."  ^  This  is  a  misstatement  of 
the  wliole  question.  It  is  not  the  extravagance  of  love 
which  causes  Werther's  suicide  :  it  is  his  own  diseased 
moral  nature  which  makes  life  insupportable,  and  which 
makes  unhappy  love  the  spark  that  fires  the  train. 
Moreover,  one  reads  with  surprise  this  reference  to 
Greek  and  Eoman  life,  coming  from  so  admirable  a 
scholar  as  Lessing.  He  forgot  that  Sophocles,  in  the 
"  Antigone,"  makes  an  unhappy  lover  commit  suicide 
because  his  mistress  is  lost  to  him.  He  forgot,  also,  that 
the  Stoics  introduced  the  "  fashion  "  of  suicide  into  Rome ; 
and  in  Alexandria  the  Epicureans  established  a  "  society 
for  the  suppression  of  life  "  —  the  (rvvairoOavovfjievoi  — 
where,  having  exhausted  every  pleasure,  the  members 
assembled  at  a  feast,  the  wine-cup  went  freely  round, 
and  in  the  midst  of  this  orgie  they  quietly  put  an 
end  to  their  contemptible  existences :  —  a  new  vari- 
ation of  the  conversazione,  at  which,  instead  of  music 
and  aesthetic  tea,  the  guests  were  invited  to  supper  and 
suicide. 

The  Berlin  Aristarchus  —  Nicolai  —  an  upright,  but 
narrow-minded  man,  and  a  great  enemy  of  all  Schwdr- 
mcrci,  wrote,  by  way  of  criticism,  a  parody  called  the 
"  Joys  of  Young  Werther,"  in  which  sentimentalism  is 
ridiculed  :  —  Werther  shoots  himself  with  chicken's 
blood  only,  and  marries  Charlotte,  "  and  lives  happy 
all  the  rest  of  his  hfe." 

Goethe's  answer  to  this  was  "  a  burlesque  poem 
called  '  Nicolai  at  Werther's  Grave,'  which,  however, 
cannot  be  communicated."      This  poem  has  been  re- 

1  Lessing  :  "Werke,"  x,  225,  Letter  to  Eschenberg. 

It  is  surmised  that  Lessing's  objections  to  "Werther"  were 
sharpened  by  his  dislike  at  recognising  his  young  friend  Jeru- 
salem, thus  brought  into  a  fiction.  A  letter  from  Weisse  to 
Garve,  quoted  by  Appell,  "Werther  und  seine  Zeit,"  p.  60,  con- 
firms this. 


220  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

covered  and  printed  by  Boas.  ^  It  is  exceedingly- 
coarse,  and  not  very  humourous.  The  admirers  of 
"  Werther,"  of  course,  are  greatly  incensed  against 
Nicolai ;  but  they  forget  that  Nicolai  never  denied 
the  talent  of  the  work,  he  only  echoed  Lessing's  objec- 
tion to  its  tendency.  His  criticism,  moreover,  was  but 
a  feather  in  the  scale  against  the  praise  which  poured 
in  from  all  sides. 

AVhile  the  public  was  reading  the  tragic  story  of 
"Werther"  through  fast-flowing  tears,  a  painful  sense 
of  indignation  rose  in  the  breasts  of  Kestner  and 
Charlotte  at  seeing  themselves  thus  dragged  into  pub- 
licity, their  story  falsified.  The  narrative  was  in  many 
respects  too  close  to  reality  not  to  be  very  offensive  in 
its  deviations  from  reality.  The  figures  were  unmis- 
takable ;  and  yet  they  were  not  the  real  figures.  The 
eager  public  soon  found  out  who  were  the  principal 
personages,  and  that  a  real  history  was  at  the  bottom 
of  the  romance :  but  as  the  whole  truth  could  not  be 
known,  the  Kestners  found  themselves  in  a  very  false 
light.  They  were  hurt  by  this  indiscretion  of  their 
friend ;  more  hurt  perhaps  than  they  chose  to  confess ; 
and  we  may  read,  in  the  following  fragment  of  the 
sketch  of  the  letter  sent  by  Kestner  on  receipt  of  the 
book,  the  accents  of  an  offended  friend  whose  pride 
restrains  the  full  expression  of  his  anger : 

"Your  'Werther'  might  have  given  me  great  pleas- 
ure, since  it  could  have  reminded  me  of  many  interest- 
ing scenes  and  incidents.  But  as  it  is,  it  has  in  certain 
respects  given  me  little  edification.  You  know  I  like 
to  speak  my  mind. 

"  It  is  true,  you  have  woven  something  new  into 

each  person,  or  have  fused  several  persons  into  one. 

So  far  good.     But  if  in  this  interweaving  and  fusing 

you  had  taken  counsel  of  your  heart,  you  would  not 

1 "  Nachtrage  zu  Goethe's  Werke  :  "  Lief.  i.  p.  12. 


3vi*il  ajjioai)  V' 


\e  in   the   t 


PoriraH  oj  uociiic 

I  fi'unjravuic  after  the  painting  l)y  George  l)arve 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  221 

have  so  prostituted  the  real  persons  whose  features 
you  borrow.  You  wished  tu  draw  from  nature,  that 
your  picture  might  be  truthful ;  and  yet  you  have  com- 
bined so  much  that  is  contradictory,  that  you  have 
missed  the  very  mark  at  which  you  aimed.  The  dis- 
tinguished author  will  revolt  agamst  this  judgment, 
but  I  appeal  to  reahty  and  truth  itself  when  I  pro- 
nounce that  the  artist  has  failed.  The  real  Lotte 
would,  in  many  instances,  be  grieved  if  she  were  like  the 
Lotte  you  have  there  painted.  I  know  well  that  it  is 
said  to  be  a  character  compounded  of  two,  but  the  Mrs. 
H.  whom  you  have  partly  inwoven  was  also  incapable 
of  what  you  attribute  to  your  heroine.  But  this 
expenditure  of  fiction  was  not  at  all  necessary  to  your 
end,  to  nature  and  truth,  for  it  was  without  any  such 
behaviour  on  the  part  of  a  woman  —  a  behaviour 
which  must  ever  be  dishonourable  even  to  a  more  than 
ordinary  woman  —  that  Jerusalem  sliot  himself. 

"  The  real  Lotte,  whose  friend  you  nevertheless  wish 
to  be,  is  in  your  picture,  which  contains  too  much  of 
her  not  to  suggest  her  strongly  :  is,  I  say  —  but  no,  I 
will  not  say  it,  it  pains  me  already  too  much  only  to 
think  it.  And  Lotto's  husband  —  you  called  him 
your  friend,  and  God  knows  that  he  was  so  — is  with 
her. 

"  The  miserable  creature  of  an  Albert !  In  spite  of 
its  being  an  alleged  fancy  picture  and  not  a  portrait,  it 
also  has  such  traits  of  an  original  (only  external  traits, 
it  is  true,  thank  God,  only  external),  that  it  is  easy  to 
guess  the  real  person.  And  if  you  wanted  to  have  him 
act  so,  need  you  have  made  him  such  a  blockhead  ? 
that  forthwith  you  might  step  forward  and  say,  see 
what  a  fine  fellow  I  am ! " 

Kestner  here  touches  on  a  point  of  morality  in  liter- 
ature worth  consideration.  While  emphatically  de- 
claring that  the  artist  must  take  his  materials  from 
reality,  must  employ  his  own  experience,  and  draw 


22  2  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

the  characters  he  has  really  known,  we  must  as 
emphatically  declare  that  he  is  bound  to  represent  his 
experience  in  forms  sufficiently  dilferent  from  the 
reahty  to  prevent  the  public  reading  actual  histories 
beneath  liis  invention,  and  recognising  the  persons  he 
has  employed  as  lay  figures,  whenever  those  persons 
are  assigned  parts  which  they  would  reject.  There  is, 
of  course,  great  difficulty  in  keeping  to  truth  while 
avoiding  the  betrayal  of  actual  occurrences ;  but  it  is  a 
difficulty  which  is  commanded  by  morality. 

Goethe  was  evidently  astounded  at  the  effect  his 
book  had  produced  on  his  friends  :  "  I  must  at  once 
write  to  you,  my  dear  and  angry  friends,  and  free  my 
heart.  The  thing  is  done ;  the  book  is  out ;  forgive  me 
if  you  can.  I  will  hear  nothing  till  the  event  has 
proved  how  exaggerated  your  anxiety  is,  and  till  you 
have  more  truly  felt,  in  the  book  itself,  the  innocent 
mingling  of  fiction  and  truth.  Thou  hast,  dear  Kest- 
ner,  exhausted  everything,  cut  away  all  the  ground  of 
my  excuse,  and  left  me  nothing  to  say ;  yet  I  know 
not,  my  heart  has  still  more  to  say,  although  I  cannot 
express  it.  I  am  silent,  but  the  sweet  presentiment  I 
must  still  retain,  and  I  hope  eternal  Fate  has  that  in 
store  for  me  which  will  bind  us  yet  closer  one  to  the 
otlier.  Yes,  dear  ones,  I  who  am  so  bound  to  you  by 
love  must  still  remain  debtor  to  you  and  your  children 
for  the  uncomfortable  hours  which  my  —  name  it  as 
you  will  —  has  given  you.  .  .  .  And  now,  my  dear 
ones,  when  anger  rises  within  you,  think,  oh,  think  only 
that  your  old  Goethe,  ever  and  ever,  and  now  more 
than  ever,  is  your  own." 

Their  anger  fell.  They  saw  that  he  had  committed 
an  indiscretion,  but  liad  done  no  more.  They  WTote 
forgiveness,  as  we  gather  from  this  letter  Goethe  sent 
on  the  21st  of  November  : 

"  Here  I  have  thy  letter,  Kestner !  On  a  strange 
desk,  in  a  painter's  studio,  for  yesterday  I  began  to 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  223 

paint  in  oil,  I  have  thy  letter,  and  must  give  thee  my 
thanks !  Thanks,  dear  friend !  Thou  art  ever  the 
same  good  soul !  Oh,  that  I  could  spring  on  thy  neck, 
throw  myself  at  Lotte's  feet,  one,  one  minute,  and  all, 
all  that  should  be  done  away  with,  explained,  which  I 
could  not  make  clear  with  quires  of  paper !  O  ye 
unbelieving  ones !  I  could  exclaim.  Ye  of  little  faith  ! 
Could  you  feel  the  thousandth  part  of  what  Werther 
is  to  a  thousand  hearts,  you  would  not  reckon  the 
sacrifice  you  have  made  toward  it !  Here  is  a  letter, 
read  it,  and  send  me  word  quickly  what  thou  thinkest 
of  it,  what  impression  it  makes  on  thee.  Thou  sendest 
me  Henniugs's  letter ;  he  does  not  condemn  me ;  he 
excuses  me.  Dear  Brother  Kestner  !  if  you  will  wait, 
you  shall  be  contented.  I  would  not,  to  save  my  own 
life,  call  back  Werther,  and,  believe  me,  believe  m 
me,  thy  anxieties,  thy  gravami7ia  will  vanish  hke 
phantoms  of  the  night  if  thou  hast  patience  ;  and  then, 
between  this  and  a  year,  I  promise  you  in  the  most 
affectionate,  peculiar,  fervent  manner,  to  disperse,  as  if 
it  were  a  mere  north-wind  fog  and  mist,  whatever  may 
remain  of  suspicion,  misinterpretation,  etc.,  in  the  gos- 
siping public,  though  it  is  a  herd  of  swine.  Werther 
must  —  must  be  !  You  do  not  feel  him,  you  only  feel 
me  and  yourselves ;  and  that  which  you  call  stucJc  on, 
and  in  spite  of  you  and  others,  is  interwoven.  If  I 
live,  it  is  thee  I  have  to  thank  for  it ;  thus  thou  art 
not  Albert.     And  thus  — 

"  Give  Lotte  a  warm  greeting  for  me,  and  say  to  her  : 
'To  know  that  your  name  is  uttered  by  a  thousand 
hallowed  hps  with  reverence,  is  surely  an  equivalent 
for  anxieties  which  would  scarcely,  apart  from  any- 
thing else,  vex  a  person  long  in  common  life,  where 
one  is  at  the  mercy  of  every  tattler.' 

"  If  you  are  generous  and  do  not  worry  me,  I  will 
send  you  letters,  cries,  sighs  after  Werther,  and  if  you 
have  faith,  believe  that  all  will  be  well,  and  gossip  is 


224  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

nothing,  and  weigh  well  your  philosopher's  letter  which 
I  have  kissed. 

"  Oh,  then  !  —  hast  not  felt  how  the  man  embraces 
thee,  consoles  thee,  and  in  thy  —  in  Lotte's  worth,  finds 
consolation  enough  under  the  wretchedness  which  has 
terrified  you  even  in  the  fiction.  Lotte,  farewell, — 
Kestner,  love  me,  and  do  not  worry  me." 

The  pride  of  the  author  in  his  darling  breaks  out  in 
this  letter,  now  his  friends  have  forgiven  him.  We 
must  admit  that  Kestner  had  reason  to  be  annoyed ; 
the  more  so  as  his  friends,  identifying  him  with  the 
story,  wrote  sympathetically  about  it.  He  had  to 
reply  to  Hennings  on  the  subject,  and  in  telling  him 
the  true  story,  begged  him  to  correct  the  false  reports. 
He  says :  "  In  the  first  part  of  '  Werther,'  Werther 
is  Goethe  himself.  In  Lotte  and  Albert  he  has  bor- 
rowed traits  from  us,  my  wife  and  myself.  Many  of 
the  scenes  are  quite  true,  and  yet  partly  altered ;  others 
are,  at  least  in  our  history,  unreal.  For  the  sake  of 
the  second  part,  and  in  order  to  prepare  for  the  death 
of  Werther,  he  has  introduced  various  things  into  the 
first  part  which  do  not  at  all  belong  to  us.  For  example, 
Lotte  has  never  either  with  Goethe  or  mth  any  one 
else  stood  in  the  intimate  relation  which  is  there  de- 
scribed ;  in  this  we  have  certainly  great  reason  to  be 
olfended  with  him,  for  several  accessory  circumstances 
are  too  true  and  too  well  known  for  people  not  to  point 
to  us.  He  regrets  it  now,  but  of  what  use  is  that  to 
us  ?  It  is  true  he  has  a  great  regard  for  my  wife ;  but 
he  ought  to  have  depicted  her  more  faithfully  in  this 
point,  that  she  was  too  wise  and  delicate  ever  to  let 
him  go  so  far  as  is  represented  in  the  first  part.  She 
behaved  to  him  in  sucli  way  as  to  make  her  far 
dearer  to  me  than  before,  if  this  had  been  possible. 
Moreover,  our  engagement  was  never  made  public, 
though  not,  it  is  true,  kept  a  secret :  still  slie  was  too 
bashful  ever  to  confess  it  to  any  one.     And  there  was 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  225 

no  engagement  between  us  but  that  of  hearts.  It  was 
not  till  shortly  before  my  departure  (when  Goethe  had 
already  been  a  year  away  from  Wetzlar  at  Frankfort, 
and  the  disguised  Werther  had  been  dead  half  a  year) 
that  we  were  married.  After  the  lapse  of  a  year,  since 
our  residence  here,  we  have  become  father  and  mother. 
The  dear  boy  hves  still,  and  gives  us,  thank  God,  much 
joy.  For  the  rest,  there  is  in  Werther  much  of  Goethe's 
character  and  manner  of  thinking.  Lotte's  portrait  is 
completely  that  of  my  wife.  Albert  might  have  been 
made  a  little  more  ardent.  The  second  part  of  '  Wer- 
ther '  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  us.  .  .  .  When 
Goethe  had  printed  his  book,  he  sent  us  an  early  copy, 
and  thought  we  should  fall  into  raptures  with  what  he 
had  done.  But  we  at  once  saw  what  would  be  the  effect, 
and  your  letter  confirms  our  fears.  I  wrote  very  angrily 
to  him.  He  then  for  the  first  time  saw  what  he  had 
done ;  but  the  book  was  printed,  and  he  hoped  our 
fears  were  idle."  In  another  letter  to  the  same,  Kest- 
ner  says :  "  You  have  no  idea  what  a  man  he  is.  But 
when  his  great  fire  has  somewhat  burnt  itself  out, 
then  we  shall  all  have  the  greatest  joy  in  him." 

We  have  thus  brought  to  a  close  the  history  of 
"  Werther,"  its  composition  and  effect :  a  history  so 
important  in  the  biography  of  its  author,  that  we 
might  have  been  excused  for  having  devoted  so  much 
space  to  it,  even  if  the  letters,  which  have  furnished 
the  evidence,  did  not  throw  so  strong  a  light  upon  a 
period  very  inadequately  represented  in  the  "  Wahrheit 
und  Dichtung." 

On  the  28th  August,  1849,  the  hundredth  anni- 
versary of  the  great  poet's  birth,  when  all  Germany 
joined  in  a  jubilee,  a  small  marble  monument  was 
erected  in  the  well-known  Wertherplatz  without  the 
Wetzlar  gates,  where  Goethe  was  wont  to  sit  and 
muse ;  three  lime-trees  are  planted  round  it,  bearing 
this  inscription: 


226  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

RUHEPLATZ    DE8    DICHTERS 

GOETHE 

ZU    SEINEM    ANDENKEN    FRISCH    BEPFLANZT 
BEI    DER    JUBELFEIER    AM    28.    AUG.    1849. 

The  visitor  may  still  see  the  Brunnen,  also  Jerusa- 
lem's grave  in  the  quaint  old  cemetery,  where  Catholic 
and  Protestant  lie  side  by  side.  The  grave  has  no 
tombstone,  because  of  the  suicide;  but  an  old  acacia 
marks  the  spot. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE   LITERAEY   LION. 

Goethe  was  now  at  the  perilous  juncture  in  an 
author's  career  when,  having  just  achieved  a  splendid 
success,  he  is  in  danger  either  of  again  snatching  at 
laurels  in  presumptuous  haste,  or  of  suffering  himself 
to  repose  upon  the  laurels  he  has  won ;  talking  of 
greatness,  instead  of  learning  to  be  great.  Both  perils 
he  avoided.  He  neither  traded  on  his  renown,  nor 
conceived  that  his  education  was  complete.  Wisely- 
refraining  from  completing  fresh  important  works,  he 
kept  up  the  practice  of  his  art  by  trifles,  and  the  edu- 
cation of  his  genius  by  serious  studies. 

Among  these  trifles  are  "  Clavigo,"  the  "  Jahrmarkts- 
fest  zu  Plundersweilen,"  and  the  "  Prolog  zu  Bahrdt's 
Neuesten  Offenbarungen."  For  the  composition  of 
"  Clavigo  "  we  must  retrace  our  steps  a  little,  and  once 
more  see  him  in  the  Frankfort  circle  during  1773,  that 
is,  before  the  publication  of  "  Werther,"  which  was 
delayed  till  October.  In  his  sister's  pleasant  circle 
we  have  already  noticed  Antoinette  Gerock,  who  was 
fascinating  enough  to  fix  his  attentions.  They  were 
accustomed  to  meet  once  a  week,  in  picnics  and  pleas- 
ure parties ;  at  one  of  these  it  was  agreed  to  institute 
a  marriage  lottery.  He  thus  speaks  of  it :  "  Every 
week  lots  were  drawn  to  determine  the  couples  who 
should  be  symbolically  wedded  ;  for  it  was  supposed 
that  every  one  knew  well  enough  how  lovers  should 
conduct  themselves,  but  few  had  any  proper  conceptions 

227 


228  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

of  the  requisite  demeanour  between  man  and  wife. 
General  rules  were  laid  down  to  the  effect  that  these 
wedded  couples  should  preserve  a  polite  indifference, 
not  sitting  near  each  other,  nor  speaking  to  each  other 
too  often,  much  less  indulging  in  anything  like  caresses. 
At  the  same  time,  side  by  side  with  this  polite  indif- 
ference, this  well-bred  calm,  anytliing  like  discord  or 
suspicion  was  to  be  sedulously  avoided ;  and  whoever 
succeeded  in  gaining  the  affections  of  his  wife  without 
usmg  the  importunities  of  a  lover  was  supposed  to  have 
achieved  their  ideal.  Much  sportive  confusion  and 
agreeable  pleasantry  of  course  arose  from  this  scheme." 
Strangely  enough,  to  him  it  fell  thrice  to  have  the  same 
girl  appointed  by  hazard  to  fill  the  place  of  his  wife. 
When  fate  had  brought  them  together  for  the  third 
time,  it  was  resolved  unanimously  that  they  should  be 
no  longer  separated,  that  Heaven  had  spoken,  and  that 
hereafter  they  were  to  consider  themselves  as  man  and 
wife,  and  not  to  draw  lots  as  the  others  did.  At  these 
reunions  something  new  was  generally  read  aloud  by 
one  of  the  party.  One  evening  Goethe  brought  with 
him  as  a  novelty  the  "M^moire"  of  Beaumarchais. 
During  the  conversation  which  ensued,  Goethe's  part- 
ner said  to  him :  "If  I  were  thy  liege  lady,  and  not 
thy  wife,  I  would  command  thee  to  change  this  memoir 
into  a  play,  to  which  it  seems  well  suited."  He  an- 
swered :  "  That  thou  mayst  see,  my  love,  that  liege  lady 
and  wife  are  one,  I  here  undertake  that  this  day  week  I 
will  read  a  play  on  this  very  matter."  So  bold  a  prom- 
ise excited  astonishment,  but  he  resolved  on  fulfilling 
it.  "  What,  in  such  cases,"  he  says,  "  is  termed  inven- 
tion, was  with  me  spontaneous.  Wliile  escorting  my 
titulary  wife  home  I  was  silent ;  and  on  her  inquiring 
the  cause  I  told  her  that  I  was  thinking  out  the  play, 
and  had  already  got  into  the  middle  of  it  —  intending 
to  show  her  how  gladly  I  would  do  anytliing  to  please 
her.    Upon  which  she  pressed  my  hand,  and  I  snatched 


LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE  229 

a  kiss.  '  Thou  must  not  step  out  of  thy  character,'  she 
exclaimed  ;  '  they  say  it  is  not  proper  for  married  folks 
to  be  loving,'  '  Let  them  say  what  they  please,'  I 
rephed,  '  we  will  have  it  our  own  way.' " 

He  confesses  that  before  reading  the  memoir  aloud, 
the  subject  had  appeared  to  him  eminently  dramatic ; 
though,  without  such  a  stimulus  as  he  had  received, 
this  piece,  like  so  many  others,  would  have  remained 
among  the  number  of  possible  creations.  The  only 
novelty  in  it  was  his  mode  of  treating  the  villain.  He 
was  weary  of  those  characters  so  frequently  represented, 
who,  from  revenge,  or  from  hate,  or  from  trivial 
motives,  ruin  a  noble  nature ;  and  he  wished  in  Carlos 
to  show  the  working  of  clear  good  sense,  against  pas- 
sion and  inclination.  Justified  by  the  precedent  of 
Shakespeare,  he  translated,  word  for  word,  such  por- 
tions of  the  memoir  as  were  dramatic ;  borrowing  the 
denouement  from  an  English  ballad.^  He  was  ready 
before  the  week  expired,  and  read  the  piece  to  a  de- 
lighted audience.  This  is  his  ow^n  account.  That  it 
is  inexact  has  been  pointed  out  by  Godeke,  who 
remarks  that  the  letter  to  Kestner  proves  the  incident 
of  lot-drawing  to  have  occurred  in  1773  ;  whereas  Beau- 
marchais's  "  M^moire  "  did  not  appear  till  the  beginning 
of  1774. 

A  few  words  on  this  memoir  may  be  useful.  Beau- 
marchais  had  two  sisters  living  in  Madrid,  one  married 
to  an  architect,  the  other,  Marie,  engaged  to  Clavijo, 
a  young  author  without  fortune.  No  sooner  had 
Clavijo  obtained  the  office  he  had  long  solicited,  than 
he  refused  to  fulfil  his  promise.  Beaumarchais  hurried 
to  :Madrid ;  his  object  was  twofold :  to  save  the  repu- 
tation of  his  sister,  and  to  put  a  little  speculation  of 
his  own  on  foot.     He  sought  Clavijo,  and  by  his  sang- 

1  So  he  says  ;  but  his  memory  deceived  him.  The  ballad  was 
an  old  German  ballad,  "Das  Lied  von  Herrn  und  der  Magd." 
See  Herder's  "Naclilass,"  i.  159. 


230  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

froid  and  courage  extorted  from  him  a  %vTitteii  avowal 
of  his  contemptible  conduct.  No  sooner  is  this  settled, 
than  Clavijo,  alarmed  at  the  consequences,  solicits  a 
reconciliation  with  Marie,  offering  to  marry  her.  Beau- 
marchais  consents,  but  just  as  the  marriage  is  about 
to  take  place,  he  learns  that  Clavijo  is  secretly  con- 
spiring against  him,  accusing  him  of  having  extorted 
the  marriage  by  force,  in  consequence  of  which  he  has 
procured  an  order  from  the  government  to  expel  Beau- 
marchais  from  Madrid.  Irritated  at  such  villainy, 
Beaumarchais  goes  to  the  ministers,  reaches  the  king, 
and  avenges  himself  by  getting  Clavijo  dismissed  from 
his  post.  This  is,  in  brief,  the  substance  of  the 
"Memoire"  which  appeared  in  February,  1774.  The 
adventure  occurred  in  1764,  so  that  Clavijo,  who  sub- 
sequently became  a  distinguished  writer,  might  have 
seen  himself  not  only  held  up  to  odium  in  the 
sparkhng  pages  of  Beaumarchais,  but  represented  on 
the  stage  of  every  German  theatre.  He  died  in  1806, 
vice-president  of  the  Natural  History  Society  in  Madrid, 
having  previously  translated  Buffon,  and  edited  the 
Merciirio  historico  y  politico  de  Madrid.  We  must 
suppose  that  Goethe  knew  nothing  of  the  existence  of 
Clavijo  when  he  wrote  the  drama. 

With  Beaumarchais  in  our  hands  it  is  curious  to 
read  "  Clavigo,"  which  is  as  close  a  reproduction  as  the 
dramatic  form  admits ;  and  is  an  evidence  that  Goethe 
did  wisely  in  not  at  once  proceeding  to  complete 
"  Faust "  (fragments  of  which  were  written)  or  "  Ciesar." 
He  would  infallibly  have  repeated  himself.  He  has 
repeated  himself  in  "Clavigo:"  the  external  circum- 
stances are  changed,  but  the  experience  is  the  same. 
Clavigo  is  another  Weislingen,  and  was  meant  to 
be  so:  "T  have  written  a  tragedy,"  Goethe  writes  to 
Sclionborn,  "  '  Clavigo,'  a  modern  anecdote,  dramatised 
with  tlie  greatest  simplicity  and  heartfelt  truth.  My 
hero   is    an   irresolute,  half-great,  half-little   man,  the 


LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE  231 

pendant  to  Weisliugen,  or  rather  Weislingen  himself  as 
the  chief  person."  He  has  well  portrayed  the  weak, 
ambitious  nature  of  one  who  hopes  to  rise  still  higher 
in  the  world,  but  feels  his  career  obstructed  by  a  pas- 
sion which  made  him  happy  in  the  obscure  days  of 
penniless  youth.  The  popular  author  and  court  favour- 
ite aspires  to  some  woman  of  rank;  an  aspiration  in 
which  he  is  encouraged  by  his  friend  Carlos,  who 
mockingly  strips  off  the  garlands  with  which  the  poet's 
imagination  had  decked  his  mistress. 

Marie  is  a  weak,  sensitive  creature,  without  much 
individuality,  and  is  perhaps  the  poorest  sketch  Goethe 
has  given  of  a  woman.  There  is,  however,  one  Httle 
touch  which  shows  the  poet;  it  is  a  sentence  which 
escapes  Marie,  when  Clavigo  turns  repentant  to  her 
feet,  appealing  to  her  affection :  she  throws  herself  on 
his  neck,  exclaiming,  "  Ah,  sister,  whence  knows  he  that 
I  love  him  so  —  wolier  weiss  er  dass  ich  ilin  so  Hebe  ?  " 

Marie  is  overjoyed  at  Clavigo's  return,  but  her  joy 
is  brief.  The  demon  of  ambition,  aided  by  the  cold 
sarcasms  of  Carlos  (in  whom  we  see  the  germ  of  Meph- 
istopheles),  once  more  troubles  Clavigo,  and  turns  him 
from  a  marriage  so  ill  suited  to  his  hopes.  Carlos  bit- 
terly, but  truly,  says  to  him,  "  There  is  nothing  in  the 
world  so  pitiable  as  an  undecided  man,  who  wavers 
between  two  feelings,  hoping  to  reconcile  them."  He 
suggests  that  Beaumarchais  should  be  assassinated. 
"  He  who  orders  the  assassination  of  the  brother,  pan- 
tomimically  intimates  that  he  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  sister,"  adds  Carlos,  quite  in  the  Mephisto- 
phelic  tone.  They  determine  on  a  contemptible  plan. 
Beaumarchais  is  to  be  imprisoned  for  having  insulted 
and  threatened  Clavigo  under  his  own  roof.  The  order 
for  arrest  arrives,  and  Marie  dies  broken-hearted  at  the 
treachery  of  her  lover. 

Up  to  this  point  —  short  at  least  of  the  death  of 
Marie  —  Beaumarchais's  "M^moire"   has  been  faith- 


232  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

fully  followed ;  a  fifth  act  is  added,  with  a  denouement 
to  fit  it  for  the  stage. 

Powerful  as  this  scene  is  in  theatrical  effect,  one 
cannot  but  admit  that  aesthetically  it  is  poor  and  al- 
most commonplace.  The  clumsiness  by  which  the 
meeting  is  contrived  has  been  noticed  by  Eoseukranz.i 
Clavigo  is  seeking  Carlos ;  he  orders  the  servant  who 
lights  the  way,  not  to  pass  through  the  street  where 
the  Beaumarchais  family  resides,  yet  the  servant  actu- 
ally leads  him  there  because  it  is  the  shorter  route. 
The  whole  tone  of  this  fifth  act  is  not  in  harmony  with 
what  precedes.  The  act  is  grafted  on  —  it  does  not 
groio  out  of — the  subject. 

As  a  stage  play  the  interest  is  great :  the  situations 
are  effective ;  the  dramatic  collision  perfect ;  the  plot 
is  clearly  and  rapidly  evolved ;  the  language  vigorous, 
passionate,  and  pointed.  But  it  must  not  be  tried  by 
any  high  standard.  Merck,  anxious  about  his  friend's 
reputation,  would  not  consent  to  judge  the  play  accord- 
ing to  the  theatre  standard,  but  exclaimed,  "  Such  trash 
as  this  you  must  not  write  again  ;  others  can  do  that ! " 
Goethe  says,  that  in  this  Merck  was  wrong,  and  for  the 
first  time  did  him  an  injury.  "  We  should  not  in  all 
things  transcend  the  notions  which  men  have  already 
formed  ;  it  is  right  that  much  should  be  done  in  accord- 
ance with  the  common  way  of  thinking.  Had  I  written 
a  dozen  such  pieces  (and  it  would  have  been  easy  to 
do  so  with  a  little  stimulus)  three  or  four  of  them 
would  perhaps  have  kept  their  place  upon  the  stage." 

This  can  scarcely  be  accepted  as  conclusive  reason- 
ing. Merck  might  have  replied,  "  Perhaps  so  ;  but  you 
have  genius  fit  for  higher  things  than  stage  plays." 
Nevertheless,  as  before  hinted,  I  think  Goethe  was 
right  in  his  course,  althougli  the  reasons  he  alleges  are 
unsatisfactory.  "  Clavigo,"  like  the  other  trifles  he 
composed  at  this  period,  must  be  regarded  as  the 
1  "  Goethe  imd  Seine  Werke,"  p.  185. 


LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE  233 

sketches  with  which  an  artist  fills  his  portfolio,  not 
the  works  which  are  to  brighten  galleries.  The  im- 
pulse to  create  was  imperious  ;  if  trifles  were  demanded, 
he  created  trifles.  His  immense  activity  was  forced 
to  expend  itself  on  minor  works,  because  he  dimly  felt 
himself  unripe  for  greater  works. 

He  was  beginning  to  feel  himself  a  man  of  conse- 
quence ;  the  notable  men  of  the  day  eagerly  sought 
his  acquaintance.  Among  these  men  we  must  note 
Klopstock,  Lavater,  Basedow,  Jacobi,  and  the  Stol- 
bergs.  Correspondence  led  to  personal  intercourse. 
Klopstock  arrived  in  Frankfort  in  this  October,  1774, 
just  before  "  Werther "  appeared.  Goethe  saw  him, 
read  the  fragments  of  "  Faust "  to  him,  and  discussed 
skating  with  him.  But  the  great  rehgious  poet  was 
too  far  removed  from  the  strivings  of  his  young  rival 
to  conceive  that  attachment  for  him  which  he  felt  for 
men  hke  the  Stolbergs,  or  to  inspire  Goethe  with  any 
keen  sympathy. 

In  June,  Lavater  also  came  to  Frankfort.  Tliis  was 
a  few  mouths  before  Klopstock's  \dsit.  He  had  com- 
menced a  correspondence  with  Goethe  on  the  occasion 
of  the  "  Briefe  des  Pastors."  Those  were  great  days 
of  correspondence.  Letters  were  written  to  be  read  in 
circles,  and  were  shown  about  like  the  last  new  poem, 
Lavater  pestered  his  friends  for  their  portraits,  and  for 
ideal  portraits  (according  to  their  conception)  of  our 
Saviour,  all  of  which  were  destined  for  the  work  on 
"  Physiognomy  "  on  which  he  was  then  engaged.  The 
artist  who  took  Goethe's  portrait  sent  Lavater  the  por- 
trait of  Bahrdt  instead,  to  see  what  he  would  make  of  it ; 
the  physiognomist  was  not  taken  in  ;  he  stoutly  denied 
the  possibility  of  such  a  resemblance.  Yet  when  he 
saw  the  actual  Goethe  he  was  not  satisfied.  He  gazed 
in  astonishment,  exclaiming  "  Bist's  ?  Art  thou  he  ? " 
"  Ich  bin's.  I  am  he,"  was  the  answer ;  and  the  two 
embraced    each    other.     Still    the   physiognomist   was 


234  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

dissatisfied.  "  I  answered  him  with  my  native  and 
acquired  reahsm,  that,  as  God  had  willed  to  make 
me  what  I  was,  he,  Lavater,  must  even  so  accept  me." 

The  first  surprise  over,  they  began  to  converse  on 
the  weightiest  topics.  Their  sympathy  was  much 
greater  than  appears  in  Goethe's  narrative,  written  many 
years  after  the  characters  of  both  had  developed  them- 
selves ;  Goethe's  into  what  we  shall  subsequently  see ; 
Lavater's  into  that  superstitious  dogmatism  and  priestly 
sophistication  which  exasperated  and  alienated  many 
of  his  friends. 

Lavater  forms  a  curious  figure  in  the  history  of  those 
days  :  a  compound  of  the  intolerant  priest  and  the  fac- 
titious sentimentalist.  He  had  fine  talents  and  a  streak 
of  genius,  but  he  was  ruined  by  vanity.  In  his  autobi- 
ographic sketch  ^  he  has  represented  himself  indi- 
cating as  a  child  the  part  he  was  to  play  as  a  man. 
Like  many  other  children,  he  formed  for  himself  a 
peculiar  and  intimate  relation  ^vith  God,  which  made 
him  look  upon  his  playfellows  with  scorn  and  pity, 
because  they  did  not  share  his  "  need  and  use  of  God." 
He  prayed  for  w^onders,  and  the  wonders  came.  God 
corrected  his  school  exercises.  God  concealed  his 
many  faults,  and  brought  to  hght  his  virtuous  deeds. 
Li  fact,  Lavater  was  said  to  have  been  "  from  the 
beginning  the  friend  of  Lies,  who  stooped  to  the  basest 
flatteries  to  gain  influence."  To  this  flattering,  cringing 
softness  he  united  the  spirit  of  priestly  domination. 
His  first  works  made  a  great  sensation.  In  1769  he 
translated  Bonnet's  "  Paling^u(;sie,"  adding  notes  in  a 
strain  of  religious  sentimentalism  then  very  acceptable. 
At  a  time  wlien  the  critics  were  rehabilitating  Homer 
and  the  early  singers,  it  was  natural  that  the  religious 
world  should  attempt  a  restoration  of  the  early  Apos- 
tolic spirit.  At  a  time  when  belief  in  poetic  inspiration 
was  a  first  article  of  the  creed,  belief  in  prophetic 
^  See  Gessner's  "  Uiographie  Lavaters." 


LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF.  GOETHE  235 

inspiration  found  eager  followers.  I  have  already 
touched. on  the  sentimental  extravagance  of  the  time. 
The  lovely  Countess  Branconi  writes  to  him :  "  0  toi, 
ch^ri  pour  la  vie,  I'ame  de  mon  ame !  Ton  mouchoir, 
tes  cheveux,  sout  pour  moi  ce  que  mes  jarretieres  sont 
pour  toi ! "  etc.,  which  is  surpassed  by  what  he  allowed 
to  be  addressed  to  him  by  another  admirer :  "  Oh,  that 
I  could  lie  on  thy  breast  in  Sabbath  holy  evening  still- 
ness —  oh,  thou  angel ! "  This  kind  of  rhodomontade 
went  all  round.     They  wept,  and  were  wept  on. 

At  the  time  of  his  arrival  in  Frankfort,  Lavater  was 
in  the  first  flush  of  renown.  Goethe  was  peculiarly 
attracted  to  him,  not  only  by  the  singularity  of  his 
character,  but  by  a  certain  community  of  religious  sen- 
timent. Community  of  creed  there  was  not,  and  could 
not  be.  "vVhat  Goethe  felt  we  may  gather  from  his 
attachment  to  Fraulein  voli  Klettenberg ;  what  he 
thought  may  be  seen  in  such  letters  as  this  to  Pfen- 
ninger,  a  friend  of  Lavater's :  "  Believe  me,  dear 
brother,  the  time  will  come  when  we  shall  understand 
each  other.  You  talk  to  me  as  a  skeptic  who  wishes  to 
understand  —  to  have  all  demonstrated  —  who  has  had 
no  experience.  The  contrary  of  all  this  is  the  fact.  Am 
I  not  more  resigned  in  matters  of  Understanding  and 
Demonstration  than  you  are  ?  I  am,  perhaps,  a  fool  to 
express  myself  in  your  language  to  please  you.  I 
ought,  by  a  purely  experimental  psychology,  to  place 
my  inmost  being  before  you  to  show  that  I  am  a  man,  and 
hence  can  only  feel  as  other  men  feel,  and  that  all  which 
appears  contradiction  between  us  is  only  dispute  about 
words,  arising  from  my  inability  to  feel  things  under 
other  combinations  than  those  actually  felt  by  me,  and 
hence,  in  expressing  their  relation  to  me,  I  name  them 
differently,  which  has  been  the  eternal  source  of  con- 
troversy, and  will  for  ever  remain  so.  And  yet  you 
always  want  to  oppress  me  with  evidences.  Where- 
fore ?     Do    I   need   evidence    of    my   own    existence  ? 


236  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Evidence  that  I  feel  ?  I  only  treasure  love,  and 
demand  evidences  which  convince  me  that  thousands 
(or  even  one)  have  felt  before  me  that  which  strength- 
ens and  invigorates  me.  And  thus  to  me  the  word  of 
man  becomes  like  unto  the  word  of  God.  With  my 
whole  soul,  I  throw  myself  upon  the  neck  of  my 
brother :  Moses,  Prophet,  Evangelist,  Apostle,  Spinoza, 
or  Machiavelli !  To  each,  however,  I  would  say :  Dear 
friend,  it  is  with  you  as  it  is  with  me.  Certain  details 
you  apprehend  clearly  and  powerfully,  but  the  whole 
can  no  more  be  conceived  by  you  than  by  me." 

He  names  Spinoza  in  this  very  remarkable  passage ; 
and  the  whole  letter  seems  like  a  reproduction  of  the 
passage  in  the  "  Ethics,"  where  that  great  thinker,  antici- 
pating modern  psychology,  shows  "  that  each  person 
judges  of  things  according  to  the  disposition  of 
his  brain,  or  rather  accepts  the  affections  of  his  imagi- 
nation as  real  things.  It  is  no  wonder  therefore  (as  we 
may  note  in  passing)  that  so  many  controversies  have 
arisen  among  men,  and  that  these  controversies  have  at 
last  given  birth  to  skepticism.  For  although  human 
bodies  are  alike  in  many  things,  there  are  more  in 
which  they  differ,  and  thus  what  to  one  appears  good, 
to  another  appears  evil ;  what  to  one  appears  order,  to 
another  appears  confusion ;  what  to  one  is  pleasant, 
to  another  is  unpleasant."  ^ 

It  is  imnecessary  to  interrupt  the  narrative  here  by 
more  closely  scrutinising  his  studies  of  Spinoza ; 
enougli  if  the  foregoing  citation  has  made  present  to 

1  "  Qufe  omnia  satis  ostendunt,  unumquemque  pro  dispositione 
cerebri  de  rebus  Judicasse,  vel  poLiu.s  iina,i,nnationis  affectioues  pro 
rebus  accepisse.  Quare  non  mirum  est  (ut  hoc  etiain  obiter 
notemus)  quorl  inter  lioinines  tot,  quot  experinuxr,  controversipe 
ortae  sint  ex  quibus  tandem  Scepticismus.  Nam  quamvis  humana 
corpora  in  multus  conveniunt,  in  jiluriniis  tamen  discrepant,  et 
ideo  id  quod  uni  bonum  alteri  malum  vidrtur  ;  (juod  uui  ordina- 
tuin,  alteri  confusum  ;  (|uod  uni  gratum,  alteri  iugratum  est."  — 
Ethices :  Pars  i.  Append. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  237 

our  minds  the  probable  parentage  of  Goethe's  opinions. 
The  contrast  between  Lavater's  Christianity  and  the 
Christianity  of  Friiulein  von  Klettenberg  interested 
him,  and  gave  him  matter  for  thought.  He  agreed 
somewhat  with  both,  but  he  agi-eed  perfectly  with 
neither.  The  difference  between  Faith  and  Knowledge 
he  thus  reconciled :  "  In  Faith  everything  depends  on 
the  fact  of  believing ;  what  we  believe  is  quite  second- 
ary. Faith  is  a  profound  sense  of  security,  springing 
from  confidence  in  the  All-powerful,  Inscrutable  Being. 
The  strength  of  this  confidence  is  the  main  point. 
But  ivhat  we  think  of  this  Being  depends  on  other 
faculties,  or  even  on  other  circumstances,  and  is  alto- 
gether indifferent.  Faith  is  a  holy  vessel,  into  which 
every  man  may  pour  his  feehngs,  his  understanding, 
and  his  imagination,  as  entirely  as  he  can.  Knowledge 
is  the  autipode  of  faith.  Therein  the  point  is  not 
whether  we  know,  but  ivhat  we  know,  hoiv  much  we 
know,  and  hoio  well  we  know  it.  Hence  men  may 
dispute  about  knowledge,  because  it  can  be  widened, 
corrected  ;  but  not  about  Faith." 

So  strong  was  the  attraction  of  Lavater's  society, 
that  Goethe  accompanied  him  to  Ems.  The  journey 
was  charming;  beautiful  summer  weather,  and  Lava- 
ter's cheerful  gaiety  formed  pleasant  accompaniments 
to  their  religious  discussions.  On  returning  to  Frank- 
fort, another  and  very  different  celebrity  was  there  to  dis- 
tract his  attention  —  Basedow,  the  education  reformer. 
No  greater  contrast  to  Lavater  could  have  been  picked 
out  of  the  celebrities  of  that  day.  Lavater  was  hand- 
some, clean,  cheerful,  flattering,  insinuating,  devout ; 
Basedow  ugly,  dirty  among  the  dirty,  sarcastic,  domi- 
neering, and  aggressively  heterodox.  One  tried  to 
restore  Apostolic  Christianity ;  the  other  could  not 
restrain  the  most  insolent  sarcasms  on  the  Bible,  the 
Trinity,  and  every  form  of  Christian  creed.  One  set 
up  as  a  Prophet,  the  other  as  a  Pedagogue. 


238  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Basedow  (born  1723)  was  early  in  indicating  his  fu- 
ture part.  At  school  the  wild  and  dirty  boy  manifested 
rebellious  energy  against  all  system  and  all  method ; 
studied  in  a  desultory,  omnivorous  manner,  as  if  to  tit 
himself  for  everything;  ran  away  from  home,  and 
became  a  lackey  in  a  nobleman's  house ;  caught  up 
Kousseau's  doctrine  about  a  state  of  nature,  which  he 
applied  to  Education ;  wi'ote  endless  works,  or  rather 
incessant  repetitions  of  one  work ;  shouted  with  such 
lusty  lungs  that  men  could  not  but  liear  him ;  appealed 
to  the  nation  for  support  in  his  philanthropic  schemes ; 
collected  "a  rent"  from  philanthropists  and  dupes; 
attacked  established  institutions,  and  parenthetically  all 
Christian  tenets ;  and  proved  himself  a  man  of  restless 
energy,  and  of  vast  and  comprehensive  ignorance.  He 
made  considerable  noise  in  the  world ;  and  in  private 
lived  somewhat  the  life  of  a  restless  hog  who  has  taken 
to  philanthropy  and  freethinking. 

Much  as  such  a  character  was  opposed  to  his  own, 
Goethe,  eager  and  inquiring,  felt  an  attraction  toward 
it,  as  toward  a  character  to  study.  Like  many  other 
studies,  this  had  its  drawbacks.  He  was  forced  to 
endure  the  incessant  smoking,  and  incessant  sarcasms 
of  the  dirty  educationist.  The  stench  he  endured  with 
firmness;  the  anti-Christian  tirades  he  answered  with 
paradoxes  wilder  than  any  he  opposed.  "  Such  a  splen- 
did opportunity  of  exercising,  if  not  of  elevating,  my 
mind,"  he  says,  "  was  not  to  be  thrown  away ;  so,  pre- 
vailing on  my  father  and  friends  to  undertake  my  law 
business,  I  once  more  set  o(T  for  the  Khine  in  Basedow's 
company."  Basedow  tilled  the  carriage  with  smoke, 
and  killed  the  time  with  discussions.  On  the  way 
they  fell  in  with  Lavater,  and  the  three  visited  several 
chateaux,  especially  those  of  noble  ladies,  everywhere 
anxious  to  receive  the  hterary  Lions.  Goethe,  we  may 
parenthetically  note,  is  in  error  when  he  says  that  he 
was   on  this   voyage  greatly  pestered  by  the  women 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  239 

wanting  to  know  all  about  the  truth  of  "  Werther ; " 
the  fact  being  that  "  Werther  "  did  not  appear  until  the 
following  October ;  for  although  the  exigencies  of  my 
narrative  have  caused  a  certain  anticipation  in  chro- 
nology, this  journey  with  Lavater  and  Basedow,  here 
made  to  follow  the  publication  of  "  Werther,"  came 
hefore  it  in  Goethe's  life.  If  we  are  not  to  believe  that 
the  women  crowded  round  him  with  questions  about 
Lotte,  we  can  readily  believe  that  children  crowded 
round  him,  begging  him  to  tell  them  stories. 

Wild  and  "  genius-like  "  was  his  demeanour.  "  Base- 
dow and  I,"  he  says,  "  seemed  to  be  ambitious  of  prov- 
ing who  could  behave  the  most  outrageously."  Very 
characteristic  is  the  glimpse  we  catch  of  him  quitting 
the  ballroom,  after  a  heating  dance,  and  rushing  up  to 
Basedow's  room.  The  Philanthropist  did  not  go  to  bed. 
He  threw  himself  in  his  clothes  upon  the  bed,  and 
there,  in  a  room  full  of  tobacco  smoke  and  bad  air, 
dictated  to  his  scribe.  When  fatigue  overcame  him,  he 
slept  awhile,  his  scribe  remaining  there,  pen  in  hand, 
awaiting  the  awakening  of  the  Philanthropist,  who,  on 
opening  his  eyes,  at  once  resumed  the  flow  of  his  dicta- 
tion. Into  such  a  room  sprang  the  dance-heated  youth, 
began  a  fierce  discussion  on  some  problem  previously 
mooted  between  them,  hurried  off  again  to  look  into 
the  eyes  of  some  charming  partner,  and  before  the  door 
closed  heard  Basedow  recommence  dictating. 

This  union  of  philosophy  with  anmsement,  of  restless 
theorising  with  animal  spirits,  indicates  the  tone  of  his 
mind.  "  I  am  contented,"  he  said  to  Lavater,  "  I  am 
happy.  That  I  feel ;  and  yet  the  whole  centre  of  my 
joy  is  an  overflowing  yearning  toward  something  which 
I  have  not,  something  which  my  soul  perceives  dimly." 
He  could  reach  that  "  something  "  neither  through  the 
pious  preaching  of  Lavater,  nor  through  the  aggressive 
preaching  of  Basedow.  Very  graphic  and  ludicrous  is 
the  picture  he  gives  of  his  sitting  like  a  citizen  of  the 


240  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

world  between  a  prophet  on  the  right  and  a  prophet  on 
the  left  hand  — 

"  Prophete  rechts,  Prophete  links, 
Das  Welt-Kind  in  der  Mitten  "  — 

quietly  eating  a  chicken  while  Lavater  explains  to 
a  country  parson  the  mystery  of  the  Eevelatious,  and 
Basedow  astonishes  a  dancing-master  with  a  scornful 
exposure  of  the  inutility  of  baptism.^ 

Nor  could  he  find  this  "  something  "  in  Jacobi,  with 
whom  he  now  came  into  sentimental  intimacy.  He 
could  to  some  extent  sympathise  with  Jacobi's  senti- 
mental cravings  and  philosophic,  religious  aspirations, 
for  he  was  bitten  with  the  Wertherism  of  the  epoch. 
He  could  gaze  with  him  in  uneasy  ecstasy  upon  the 
moonhght  quivering  on  the  silent  Ehine,  and  pour 
forth  the  songs  which  were  murmuring  within  his 
breast.  He  could  form  a  friendship,  believing  it  to 
rest  upon  an  eternal  basis  of  perfect  sympathy ;  but 
the  inward  goad  which  drove  him  onwards  and  on- 
wards, was  not  to  be  eradicated  until  fresh  experience 
had  brought  about  fresh  metamorphoses  in  his  develop- 
ment. It  is  the  Youth  we  have  before  us  here,  the 
Youth  in  his  struggles  and  many  wandering  aims,  not 
the  Man  gi-own  into  clearness. 

Jacobi  thought  that  in  Goethe  he  had  at  length 
found  the  man  his  heart  needed,  whose  influence  could 
sustain  and  direct  him.  "  The  more  I  consider  it,"  he 
wrote  to  Wieland,  "  the  more  intensely  do  I  feel  how 
impossible  it  is  for  one  who  has  not  seen  and  heard 
Goethe  to  write  a  word  about  this  extraordinary  crea- 
tion of  God's.  One  needs  to  be  with  him  but  an  hour 
to  see  that  it  is  utterly  absurd  to  expect  him  to  think 
and  act  otherwise  tliau  as  he  does.  I  do  not  mean  that 
there  is  no  possibility  of  an  improvement  in  him  ;  but 
notliing  else  is  possible  with  his  nature,  which  devel- 
1  See  the  poem  "  Din6  zu  Coblentz." 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  241 

ops  itself  as  the  flower  does,  as  the  seed  ripens,  as  the 
tree  grows  into  the  air  and  crowns  itself." 

Goethe's  wonderful  2^^'^^onality  seems  almost  every- 
where to  produce  a  similar  impression.  Heinse,  the 
author  of  "  Ardinghello,"  writes  of  him  at  this  period 
to  Gleim :  "  Goethe  was  with  us,  a  beautiful  youth  of 
five  and  twenty,  who  is  all  genius  and  strength  from 
head  to  foot,  his  heart  full  of  feeling,  his  soul  full  of 
fire  and  eagle-winged ;  I  know  no  man  in  the  whole 
History  of  Literature  who  at  such  an  age  can  be  com- 
pared to  him  in  fulness  and  completeness  of  genius." 
Those,  and  they  are  the  mass,  who  think  of  him  as  the 
calm  and  stately  minister,  the  old  Jupiter  throned  in 
Weimar,  will  feel  some  difficulty  perhaps  in  recognis- 
ing the  young  Apollo  of  this  period.  But  it  must  be 
remembered  that  not  only  was  he  young,  impetuous, 
bursting  into  Hfe,  and  trying  his  eagle  wings  with 
wanton  confidence  of  strength ;  he  was,  moreover,  a 
Ehinelander,  with  the  gay  blood  of  that  race,  stimu- 
lated by  the  light  and  generous  wine  of  the  Ehine  — 
not  a  Northern  muddled  with  beer.  WTien  I  contrast 
young  Goethe  with  a  Herder,  for  example,  it  is  always 
as  if  a  flask  of  Ehenish  glittered  beside  a  seidel  of 
Bavarian  beer. 

Such  answer  to  his  aspirations  as  the  youth  could  at 
this  period  receive,  he  found  in  Spinoza.  In  his  father's 
library  there  was  a  little  book  written  against  Spinoza, 
one  of  the  many  fooHsh  refutations  which  that  grand 
old  Hebrew's  misunderstood  system  called  forth.  "  It 
made  little  impression  on  me,  for  I  hated  controversies, 
and  always  wanted  to  know  lohat  a  thinker  thought, 
and  not  what  another  conceived  he  oiight  to  have 
thought."  It  made  him,  however,  once  more  read  the 
article  Spinoza,  in  "  Bayle's  Dictionary,"  which  he  found 
pitiable  —  as  indeed  it  is.  If  a  philosophy  is  to  be 
judged  by  its  fruits,  the  philosophy  which  guided  so 
great  and  so  \'irtuous  a  life  as  that  of  Spinoza  could 


242  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

not,  Goethe  thought,  deserve  the  howls  of  execration 
which  followed  Spiuozism.  He  procured  the  "  Opera 
Posthuma"  and  studied  them;  with  what  fruit  let  the 
following  confession  indicate.  He  is  speaking  of  his 
new  friendship  with  Jacobi :  "  The  thoughts  which 
Jacobi  imparted  to  me  flowed  immediately  from  his 
heart.  How  deeply  was  I  moved  when  in  unlimited 
confidence  he  revealed  to  me  the  deepest  wants  and 
aspirations  of  his  soul.  From  so  amazing  a  combina- 
tion of  mental  wants,  passion,  and  ideas,  I  could  only 
gather  presentiment  of  what  might,  perhaps,  hereafter 
grow  clearer  to  me.  Fortunately,  my  mind  had  already 
been  prepared,  if  not  thoroughly  cultivated  in  this  direc- 
tion, having  in  some  degree  appropriated  the  results 
and  style  of  thought  of  an  extraordinary  man,  and 
though  my  study  had  been  incomplete  and  hasty,  I 
was  yet  already  conscious  of  important  influences 
derived  from  this  source.  This  man,  who  had  wrought 
so  powerfully  on  me,  and  who  was  destined  to  affect 
so  deeply  my  entire  mode  of  thinking,  was  Spinoza- 
After  looking  around  the  world  in  vain  for  the  means 
of  developing  my  strange  nature,  I  met  with  the 
'  Ethics '  of  that  philosopher.  Of  what  I  read  in  the 
work,  and  of  what  I  read  into  it,  I  can  give  no  account, 
but  I  found  in  it  a  sedative  for  my  passions,  and  it 
seemed  to  unveil  a  clear,  broad  view  over  the  material 
and  moral  world.  But  what  especially  riveted  me  to 
him,  was  the  boundless  disinterestedness  which  slione 
forth  in  every  sentence.  That  wonderful  sentiment, 
'  He  who  truly  loves  God  must  Tiot  require  God  to  love 
him  in  return^  together  with  all  the  preliminary  prop- 
ositions on  which  it  rests,  and  all  the  consequences 
deduced  from  it,  filled  my  mind.*  To  be  disinterested 
in  everything,  but  most  of  all  in  love  and  friendship, 

1  The  propo.sition  to  wliich  Goethe  refers  i.s  doubtless  the  xix. 
of  Book  V.  :  "  Qui  Deum  atnat,  conari  non  potest,  ut  Deus  ipsum 
contra  amef'' 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  243 

was  my  highest  desire,  my  maxim,  my  practice,  so  that 
that  saucy  speech  of  Fhilinc's,  '  If  I  love  thee,  what 
is  that  to  thee  ? '  was  spoken  right  out  of  my  heart. 
Moreover,  it  must  not  be  forgotten  here  that  the  clos- 
est unions  rest  on  contrasts.  The  all-equalising  calm- 
ness of  Spinoza  was  in  strildng  contrast  with  my 
all-disturbing  activity ;  his  mathematical  method  was 
the  direct  opposite  of  my  poetic  style  of  thought  and 
feeling,  and  that  very  precision  which  was  thought  ill 
adapted  to  moral  subjects  made  me  his  enthusiastic 
disciple,  his  most  decided  worshipper.  Mind  and  heart, 
understanding  and  sense,  sought  each  other  with  eager 
affinity,  binding  together  the  most  different  natures. 
But  now  all  within  was  fermenting  and  seething  in 
action  and  reaction.  Fritz  Jacobi,  the  first  whom 
I  suffered  to  look  into  the  chaos,  and  whose  nature 
was  also  toihng  in  its  own  unfathomable  depths,  heart- 
ily responded  to  my  confidence,  and  endeavoured  to 
convert  me  to  his  own  opinions.  He,  too,  felt  an 
unspeakable  spiritual  want ;  he,  too,  would  not  have 
it  appeased  by  outward  aid,  but  aimed  at  development 
and  illumination  from  ivithin.  I  could  not  comprehend 
what  he  communicated  to  me  of  the  state  of  his  mind ; 
the  less,  indeed,  as  I  could  form  no  adequate  concep- 
tion of  my  own.  Still,  being  far  in  advance  of  me  in 
philosophical  thought,  and  even  in  the  study  of  Spinoza, 
he  was  able  to  guide  and  enlighten  my  efforts." 

Although  he  studied  Spinoza  much  and  reverently, 
he  never  studied  him  systematically.  The  mathemati- 
cal form  into  which  that  thinker  casts  his  granite 
blocks  of  thought,  was  an  almost  insuperable  hindrance 
to  systematic  study  on  the  part  of  one  so  impatient, 
so  desultory,  and  so  unmathematical  as  Goethe.  But 
a  study  may  be  very  fruitful  which  is  by  no  means 
systematic ;  a  phrase  may  fructify,  when  falling  on 
a  proper  soil.  It  has  doubtless  happened  to  the  reader 
in  his  youth  to  meet  with  some  entirely  novel   and 


244  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

profoundly  suggestive  idea,  casually  cited  from  an 
ancient  author ;  if  so,  he  will  remember  the  over- 
mastering influence  it  exercised,  the  longing  it  awakened 
for  a  nearer  acquaintance  with  that  author.  The 
casual  citation  of  a  passage  from  Spinoza  made  my 
youth  restless,  and  to  this  day  I  remember  the  aspect 
of  the  page  where  it  appeared,  and  the  revolution  in 
thought  wliich  it  effected.  A  few  ideas  determined  the 
direction  of  Goethe's  mind.  Although  he  did  not 
study  the  system  of  Spinoza  with  any  view  of  adopt- 
ing it  as  a  system,  he  studied  it  to  draw  therefrom 
food  which  his  own  mind  could  assimilate  and  work 
into  new  forms.  Spinoza  was  to  him  what  Kant  was 
to  Schiller ;  but  with  characteristic  difference,  Schil- 
ler studied  systematically,  and  tried  systematically  to 
reproduce  what  he  had  studied. 

Side  by  side  with  Spinozism,  we  have  to  note  his 
struggles  to  gain  clearness  respecting  Christianity.  The 
influence  of  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg  attracted  him  to 
the  iMoravians,  who  seemed  to  realise  early  Chris- 
tianity ;  with  his  usual  impressionability  he  studied 
their  history  and  their  doctrines,  and  gave  them  some 
hopes  that  he  would  become  a  convert ;  but  his  enthu- 
siasm cooled  down  when  he  discovered  the  wide  chasm 
that  separated  him  from  them.  "  That  which  separated 
me  from  this  brotherhood,"  he  says,  "  as  well  as  from 
many  other  worthy  Christians,  was  the  very  point 
which  has  more  than  once  torn  the  Church  with  dis- 
sent. One  party  maintained  that  by  the  Fall  human 
nature  had  been  so  corrupted  to  its  inmost  core  that 
not  a  trace  of  good  could  be  found  in  it ;  and  that, 
therefore,  man  must  renounce  all  trust  in  his  own 
powers,  and  look  only  to  the  effect  of  grace.  The  oppo- 
site party,  admitting  the  hereditary  imperfections  of 
man,  ascribed  to  nature  a  certain  internal  germ  of  good 
which,  animated  by  divine  gi-ace,  was  capable  of  grow- 
ing up  into  a  joyous  tree  of  spiritual  happiness.     This 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  245 

latter  con^4ctioIl  penetrated  to  the  depths  of  my  soul  all 
the  time  that  I  was,  with  tongu3  and  pen,  maintaining 
the  opposite  doctrine.  But  I  had  so  dawdled  along 
without  thinking  (ic/t  dammcrtc  so  hin)  that  I  had 
never  clearly  stated  the  dilemma  to  myself." 

In  spite  of  all  his  differences,  however,  with  this  sect 
or  that  sect,  nothing,  as  he  says,  could  rob  him  of  liis 
love  for  the  Holy  Scriptures  and  for  the  Founder  of 
Christianity.  He  therefore  wrought  out  for  his  own 
private  use  a  Christianity  of  his  own ;  and  as  every- 
thing which  took  possession  of  his  soul  always  assumed 
a  poetic  form,  he  now  conceived  the  idea  of  treating 
epicaUy  the  history  of  the  "  Wandering  Jew."  "  The 
legend  ran  that  in  Jerusalem  there  was  a  shoemaker 
named  Ahazuerus.  The  shoemaker  whom  1  had  known 
in  Dresden  supplied  me  with  the  main  features  of  his 
character ;  and  I  animated  them  with  the  spirit  and 
humour  of  an  artisan  of  the  school  of  Hans  Sachs, 
ennobling  him  by  a  great  love  for  Christ.  In  his 
open  workshop  he  talked  with  the  passers-by,  and  jested 
with  them  after  the  Socratic  fashion;  so  that  the 
people  took  pleasure  in  lingering  at  his  booth.  Even 
the  Pharisees  and  Sadducees  spoke  to  liim ;  and  our 
Saviour  himself,  and  his  disciples,  often  stopped  before 
his  door.  The  shoemaker,  whose  thoughts  were  alto- 
gether worldly,  I  nevertheless  depicted  as  feehng  a 
special  affection  for  our  Lord,  which  chiefly  showed 
itself  in  a  desire  to  convert  this  great  man,  whose  mind 
he  did  not  comprehend,  to  his  own  way  of  thinking. 
He  therefore  gravely  incited  Christ  to  abandon  con- 
templation, to  cease  wandering  through  the  country 
with  such  idlers,  and  drawing  the  people  away  from 
their  work  into  the  desert ;  because  an  assembled  mul- 
titude, he  said,  was  always  excitable,  and  no  good 
would  come  of  such  a  life.  Our  Lord  endeavoured  by 
parables  to  instruct  hira  in  his  higher  views,  but  they 
were  all  thrown  away  on  the  rough  shoemaker.      As 


246  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Christ  grew  into  greater    importance,  and  became  a 
public    character,    the    well-meaning    workman    pro- 
nounced his  opinion  still   more  sharply  and   angrily, 
declaring  that  nothing  but  disorder  and  tumult  could 
result  from  such  proceedings,  and  that  Christ  would  at 
length  be  compelled  to  place  himself  at  the  head  of  a 
party,  which  certainly  was  not  his  design.     And  now 
when  these   consequences  had  ensued,  Christ  having 
been  seized  and  condemned,  Ahazuerus  gives  full  vent 
to  his  indignation,  as  Judas,  who  in  appearance  had 
betrayed  our  Lord,  enters  the  workshop  in  despair,  with 
loud    lamentations,  telHng    of  the    frustration    of  his 
plan.     He  had  been,  no  less  than  the  shrewdest  of  the 
other  disciples,  thoroughly  persuaded  that  Christ  would 
declare  himself  Eegent  and  Chief  of  the  people,  and 
thought  by  this  violence  to  compel  him,  whose  hesita- 
tion had  hitherto  been  invincible,  to  hasten  the  declara- 
tion .^     In  this  persuasion  he  had  roused  the  priestliood 
to  an  act  from  which  they  had  hitlierto  shrunk.     The 
disciples,  on  their  side,  were  not  unarmed  ;  and  prob- 
ably all  would  have  gone  well,  had  not  our  Lord  give-n 
himself  up,  and  left  them  in  the  most  helpless  condi- 
tion.    Ahazuerus,  by  no  means  propitiated  'by  this  nar- 
rative, embitters  the  state  of  the  wretched  ex-apostle, 
who  has  no  resource  left  but  to  hang  himself.     As  our 
Saviour  is  led  past  the  workshop  of  the  shoemaker,  on 
his  road   to   execution,  the  well-known  scene  of  the 
legend  occurs.     The  sufferer  faints  under  the  burden  of 
the  cross,  which  Simon  of  Cyrene  untlertakes  to  carry. 
At  this  moment  Ahazuerus  steps  forward ;  and,  in  the 
style  of  those  harsh  common-sense  people  who,  seeing 
a  man  miserable  through  his  own  fault,  feel  uo  com- 

iThis  now  U^hl  thrown  upon  that  strange  history,  though 
adverse  from  all  tradition,  is  in  strict  accordance  with  our 
knowledge  of  human  nature.  It  has  been  adopted  by  Archbisiiop 
Whately,  to  whom,  iiidood,  it  is  generally  attributed  ;  and  has 
furnished  the  subject  of  a  miracle-play  to  R.  II.  Home.  Sec  iiis 
"Judas  Iscariot," 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  247 

passion,  but  rather,  iu  their  ill-timed  justice,  make  the 
matter  worse  by  reproaches,  repeats  all  his  former 
waruiugs,  which  he  uow  turns  into  vehement  accusa- 
tions, springing,  as  it  were,  from  his  very  love  for  the 
sufferer.  Our  Saviour  answers  not,  but  at  that  instant 
Veronica  covers  his  face  with  a  napkin,  and  there,  as 
she  removes  it  and  raises  it  aloft,  Ahazuerus  sees 
depicted  the  features  of  our  Lord,  not  in  their  present 
agony,  but  radiant  with  celestial  life.  Astounded  at 
the  sight,  he  turns  away  his  eyes,  and  hears  the  words, 
'  Over  the  earth  shalt  thou  wander  till  thou  shalt  once 
more  see  me  in  this  form.'  Overwhelmed  by  the 
sentence,  he  is  some  time  before  he  recovers  himself  ; 
he  then  finds  that  every  one  has  gone  to  the  place  of  exe- 
cution, and  that  the  streets  of  Jerusalem  are  empty. 
Unrest  and  yearnings  drive  him  forth,  and  his  wan- 
derings begin." 

This  legendary  conception  he  never  executed.  It 
lived  within  him  for  a  long  while,  and  during  his 
travels  in  Italy  he  again  thought  of  taking  it  up ;  but 
Uke  so  many  other  plans,  it  remained  a  mere  scheme, 
from  the  want  of  some  external  stimulus  urging  him 
to  give  it  a  shape. 

Another  subject  also  worthy  of  elaborate  treatment 
is  thus  mentioned  by  him :  "  The  common  burthen  of 
humanity  which  we  have  all  to  bear  falls  most  heavily 
on  those  whose  intellectual  powers  expand  early.  We 
may  grow  up  under  the  protection  of  parents,  we  may 
lean  for  awhile  upon  our  brothers  and  friends,  be 
amused  by  acquaintances,  rendered  happy  by  those  we 
love,  but  in  the  end  man  is  always  driven  back  upon 
himself ;  and  it  seems  as  if  the  Divinity  had  so  placed 
himself  in  relation  to  man  as  not  always  to  respond  to 
his  reverence,  trust,  and  love,  at  least  not  in  the  ter- 
rible moment  of  need.  Early  and  often  enough  had  I 
learned  that  the  call  to  us  is  '  Physician,  heal  thyself ; ' 
and  how  frequently  had  I  been  compelled  to  exclaim 


248  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

in  my  pain,  '  I  tread  the  wine-press  alone  ! '     So  now, 
looking  round  for  support  to  my  self-dependence,  I  felt 
that  the  surest  basis  on  which  to  build  was  my  own 
productive  activity.  For  many  years  I  had  never  known 
it  fail  me.      What  I  had  seen  by  day  often  shaped 
itself  into  magnificent  dreams  at  night.     My  time  for 
writing  was  early  in  the  morning ;  but  in  the  evening, 
or  deep  in  the  night,  when  wine  and  social  intercourse 
had  elevated  my  spirits,  you  might  demand  whatever 
you  wanted ;  only  let  a  subject  with  some  character  in 
it  be  proposed,  and  I  was  at  once  prepared  and  ready. 
In  reflecting  on  this  natural  gift,  I  saw  that  it  belonged 
to  me  as  rmj  oivn,  and  could  neither  be  fostered  nor 
hindered  by  any  external  circumstances;  so  I  sought 
to  make  it  the  basis  of   my  whole    existence.     This 
notion    transformed    itself  into   an    image.      The    old 
mythological  figure    of    Prometheus  occurred   to   me; 
who,  severed  from  the  gods,  peopled  the  world  from  his 
own  workshop.     I  clearly  felt  that  nothing  important 
could  be  produced  without  self-isolation.     My  produc- 
tions had  been  the  children   of  solitude;  and  since  I 
had  formed  wider  relations  with  the  world  there  had 
been  no  want  of  power  or  of  pleasure  of  invention,  but 
the  execution  halted,  because  I  had  neither  in  prose  nor 
in  verse  what  could  properly  be  called  a  style  of  my 
own,  and  thus  with  every  new  work  had  to  begin  at 
the  beginning,  and  make  experiments.     As  in  this  I 
had  to  exclude  all  aid  from  men,  so,  after  the  fashion 
of  Prometheus,  I  separated  myself  from  the  gods  also ; 
and    this    the   more    naturally  as,  with    my   mode  of 
thinking,  one  tendency  always  swallowed  up  and  repelled 
every  other. 

"The  fable  of  Prometheus  lived  within  me.  The 
old  Titan  web  I  cut  up  according  to  my  own  stature, 
and  began  to  write  a  play  expressing  the  incongruous 
relation  in  which  Prometheus  stood  with  respect  to 
Jupiter    and   the    later   gods,  in    consequence   of   his 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  249 

making  men  with  his  own  hand,  giving  them  life  by 
the  aid  of  Minerva,  and  thus  founding  a  third  dynasty. 
To  this  strange  composition  belongs  the  monologue 
which  has  become  famous  in  German  literature,  be- 
cause it  called  forth  a  declaration  from  Lessing  against 
Jacobi  on  certain  important  matters  of  doctrine."  ^ 

Of  this  "  Prometheus "  we  possess  but  a  fragment, 
but  the  fragment  is  of  such  excellence  as  to  make  us 
regret  that  it  never  was  completed.  It  lies  there 
among  his  works,  like  the  torso  of  the  Theseus,  enough 
to  prove  the  greatness  of  the  artist,  if  not  enough  to 
satisfy  the  spectator.  Grand  in  conception,  simple  in 
style,  luminous  with  great  thoughts,  it  would  have 
been  an  exemplar  of  the  adaptation  of  an  antique 
symbol  to  modern  meanings,  not  the  idle  imitation  of 
a  bygone  creed. 

Nothing  can  be  more  unhke  ^schylus.  The  Greek 
Titan  glories  in  his  audacity : 

"  'EKcbv,  iKuv  TjixapTov,  ouK  dpv)}(ro/nat." 

"  Willingly,  willingly  I  did  it,  never  will  I  deny  the 
deed  ! "  but,  while  glorying,  he  coinplaiiis :  the  injus- 
tice of  the  tyrant  wrings  from  him  cries  of  pain,  cries 
of  physical  and  cries  of  moral  agony.  The  whole 
tragedy  is  one  wild  outburst  of  sorrow.  The  first 
words  he  utters  fling  his  clamorous  sorrow  on  the  air, 
call  on  the  Divine  Ether  and  the  swift-wmged  Winds, 
on  the  Sea  Springs  and  the  multitudinous  laughter  of 
the  waves,  on  the  Universal  Mother,  the  Earth  —  and 
on  the  all-seeing  Eye,  the  Sun,  to  witness  what  he,  a 
god,  must  suffer.  These  are  his  opening  words ;  the 
closing  words  carry  the  same  burden.  He  wails  over 
the  pangs  that  are  and  are  to  be : 

1  lie  alludes  to  the  discussion  on  Spinoza  between  Jacobi  and 
Lessing,  which  gave  rise  to  Jacobi's  book,  "  Ueber  die  Lehre  des 
Spiuozas."     This  feeble  book  made  a  great  noise  iu  its  day. 


250  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

"  Ai,  at  TO  Trapop  t6  r'  €irfp\bfievov 

This  is  antique.  The  Titau  in  Goethe  utters  no  com- 
plaint. There  is  no  bravado  in  his  defiance ;  the  defi- 
ance is  uncompromising  and  sublime.  His  contempt 
for  Zeus  is  founded  on  his  knowledge  of  the  subordina- 
tion of  Zeus  to  a  higher  power  —  Destiny.  "  Away," 
he  exclaims,  "  I  serve  no  slave." 

"  Geh  !  Ich  diene  nicht  Vasallen  !  " 

In  this  he  resembles  the  Titan  drawn  by  Shelley,  in 
the  "  Prometheus  Unbound,"  who,  to  Mercury's  warn- 
ing of  the  years  of  coming  torture,  calmly  and  grandly 
answers : 

"  '  Perchance  no  thought  can  count  them  —  yet  they  pass  ! '  " 

On  this  conviction  rests  his  self-reliance.  He  knows 
the  reign  of  tyranny  must  end,  and  he  awaits  that  end. 

In  vEschylus,  also,  the  Titan  knows  that  Zeus  must 
fall ;  he  foresees  his  own  release,  and  foreseeing  it, 
resolves  to  bear  his  fate  as  well  as  he  can,  "  for  it  is 
vain  to  struggle  against  fate"  (v.  105).  Nevertheless, 
the  knowledge  of  an  end,  and  the  philosophy  which 
preaches  acquiescence,  does  not  prevent  him  from  com- 
plaininff.  And  this  is  very  Greek.  Homer  makes 
even  Mars,  when  wounded,  howl  with  pain ;  and 
Sophocles  has  filled  the  "  Pliiloctetes "  with  cries  of 
physical  pain.  The  Greeks  had  none  of  our  modern 
notions  respecting  the  effeminacy  of  complaint. 

It  may  be  objected  perhaps  to  the  foregoing  view  of 
the  Titan,  that  ./Eschylus  has  in  the  first  scene  made 
him  impertur])ably  silent,  disdaining  to  answer  the 
taunts  of  Power  and  the  pity  of  Vulcan,  as  they  l)ind 
him  to  the  rock.  These  draw  from  him  no  groan,  no 
word,  no  gesture ;  he  has  no  defiance  for  the  one,  nor 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  251 

friendly  gratitude  for  the  other.     It  is  not  until  he  is 
left  alone  that  he  appeals  to  Earth,  Air,  and  Ocean. 
This  silence,  followed  by  this  passion,  produces  a  sub- 
hme    effect.     But    the    subhmity   was  not  the  poet's 
intention ;  it  is  an  accidental  effect.     The  silence  was 
simply  a  stage  necessity,  as  I  have  elsewhere  shown. 
Whether  owing  to  some  eurhythmic  tendency  in  the 
construction  of  Greek  plays,  as  Gruppe,i  ^^(i  ^fter  him 
Bode 2    have    maintained;    or,    more    probably    from 
motives  of    economy  with    respect    to    the    actors,  as 
Geppert  asserts  ;3   certain   it  is  that  in  the  plays  of 
^schylus  more  than  two  speakers  were  never  together 
on  the  stage,  with  one  trivial  exception  in  the  "  Choe- 
phorie,"    where    Pylades    says    a    few    words.     Hence 
scholars  have  been  puzzled  to  account  for  the  distribu- 
tion  of   the  "Prometheus"    into  parts.     In  the  first 
scene   the   protagonist    would    take     Power    and    the 
deuteragonist  Vulcan.     Prometheus  therefore  must  be 
silent,  for  there  is   no    one  to  speak  for  him.     Here 
comes    the   difficulty:    if    Prometheus    is    necessarily 
silent  during  the  prologue,  how  does  he  become  elo- 
quent  immediately   on   bemg    left   alone?     Welcker* 
supposes  that  Prometheus  was   represented  by  a  pic- 
ture, and  the  protagonist  at  the  close  of  the  prologue 
got  behind  it,  and  spoke   through   it;  an  explanation 
accepted  by  Hermann,^  but   shown  by  Schomann  ^  to 
be  full  of  difdculties.     Let  that  point  be  settled  as  it 
may,  the  fact  remains  that  the  silence  of  Prometheus 
was  forced  by  stage  necessities,  and  was  not  meant  as 
an  indication  of  his  self-reliance ;  the  further  proof  of 
which  is  to   be   seen   in  his    wailings   and   writhings 
throughout    the    play  —  notably   in   the    scene    with 

1  "  Ariadne  :   oder  die  tragische  Kunst  der  Griechen,"  p.  143. 

2  "  Geschiclite  der  Ilellen.  Dichtkunst,"  iii.  p.  233. 
8"  Alt-Griechische  Buhne,"  p.  58. 
4"0piisc."  ii.  p.  140. 

6  "  Trilogie,"  p.  30. 
6  "  Prometheus, "  p.  85. 


252  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Mercury  (v.  905),  where  Prometheus  is  scurrilously 
fluent. 

Shelley  never  makes  his  Titan  flinch.     He  stands 
there  as  the  subhme  of  endurance : 

"  To  suffer  woes  which  Hope  thinks  infinite  ; 
To  forgive  wrongs  darker  than  death  or  night ; 
To  defy  power  which  seems  omnipotent ; 
To  love  and  bear  ;  to  hope  till  Hope  creates 
From  its  own  wreck  the  thing  it  contemplates  ; 
Neither  to  change,  nor  falter,  nor  repent." 

This  is  grand ;  but  grander  far  the  conception  of 
Goethe,  whose  Titan  knows  that  he  is  a  god,  and  that 
if  he  be  true  to  himself  no  power  can  trouble  or  des- 
troy his  heritage  of  life  and  activity : 

"Das  was  ich  habe  konnen  sie  nicht  rauben, 
Und  was  sie  haben  mogen  sie  beschiitzen  ; 
Hier  Mein  und  Dein, 
Und  so  sind  wir  geschieden. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Wie  vieles  ist  denn  Dein  ? 

PROMETHEUS. 

Der  Kreis  den  meine  Wirksamkeit  erfiillt."  ^ 

This  is  a  profound  truth  strikingly  brought  out.  God- 
like energy  is  seen  only  in  creation ;  what  we  can  do 

iThat  which  I  have  they  cannot  rob  me  of  ;  that  which  they 
have,  let  them  guard.  Here  mine,  here  thine  ;  and  thus  are  we 
distinjrui.shed. 

EPIMETHECS 

What,  then,  is  thine  ? 

PROM  ETH  Ens. 

The  circle  my  activity  doth  fill ! 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  253 

we  arc;  our  strength  is  measured  by  our  plastic 
power.  Thus  the  contempt  of  Prometheus  for  the 
idleness,  the  uncreativeness  of  the  gods,  is  both  deep 
and  constant. 

"  Curtain  thy  heavens,  Zeus, 

With  clouds,  with  mist ! 
And,  like  a  boy  that  crushes  thistle-tops. 
Loosen  thy  rage  on  oaks  and  mountain  ridges. 

Yet  must  thou  leave 

Me  my  earth  standing  ; 
My  hut,  which  myself  built ; 
My  hearth,  with  its  bright  flame. 
Which  thou  dost  envy. 
I  know  nought  so  pitiful 
Under  the  sun  as  ye  gods ! 

Scantily  nourishing 

With  the  forced  offerings 

Of  tremulous  prayer 

Your  divinity  ! 

Children  and  beggars. 

And  fools  hope-deluded, 

Keep  ye  from  starving  ! 
Who  gave  me  succour 
From  the  tierce  Titans  ? 
Who  rescued  me 
From  slavery  ? 

Thou  !  thou,  my  soul,  glowing 
With  holiest  fire  I 
Yet  didst  thou,  credulous, 
Poiu:  forth  thy  thanks  to  him 

Who  slumbers  above ! 
I  reverence  thee  ?     Wherefore  ? 
Hast  lightened  the  woes 
Of  the  heavily  laden  V 
Hast  thou  dried  the  tears 
Of  the  troubled  in  spirit  ? 
Who  fashioned  me  man  ? 

Was  it  not  almighty  Time  — 
And  Fate  eternal, 
Thy  lords  and  mine  ? 
Here  I  sit  and  shape 
Man  in  my  image  : 
A  race  like  myself, 


254  LIFE   AND   WORKS   OF  GOETHE 

That  will  suffer  and  weep, 
Will  rejoice  and  enjoy, 
And  scorn  thee. 
As  I  !" 

Even  in  this  rough  plaster-cast  of  translation,  does  not 
the  grandeur  and  beauty  of  the  original  shine  through  ? 


CHAPTEE   VII. 

LILI. 

"  I  MUST  tell  you  something  which  makes  me  happy  ; 
and  that  is  the  visit  of  many  excellent  men  of  all 
grades,  and  from  all  parts,  who,  among  unimportant 
and  intolerable  visitors,  call  on  me  often,  and  stay 
some  time.  We  first  know  that  we  exist,  when  we 
recognise  ourselves  in  others  (man  weiss  erst  dass  man 
ist,  wenn  man  sich  in  andcrn  wiederfindet)."  It  is  thus 
he  writes  to  the  Countess  Augusta  von  Stolberg,  with 
whom  he  had  formed,  through  correspondence,  one  of 
those  romantic  friendships  which  celebrated  men,  some- 
time in  their  lives,  are  generally  led  to  form.  This 
correspondence  is  among  the  most  characteristic  evi- 
dences we  have  of  his  mental  condition,  and  should 
be  read  by  every  one  who  wishes  to  correct  the  tone 
of  the  Autobiography.  Above  all,  it  is  the  repository 
of  his  fluctuating  feelings  respecting  Lili,  the  woman 
whom,  according  to  his  statement  to  Eckermann,  he 
loved  more  than  any  other.  "  She  was  the  first,  and 
I  can  also  add  she  is  the  last,  I  truly  loved ;  for  all 
the  inclinations  which  have  since  agitated  my  heart 
were  superficial  and  trivial  in  comparison."  ^  There 
is  no  statement  he  has  made  respecting  a  matter  of 
feeling,  to  which  one  may  oppose  a  flatter  contradiction. 
Indeed  we  find  it  difficult  to  believe  he  uttered  such  a 
sentence,  unless  we  remember  how  carelessly  in  con- 
versation such  retrospective  statements  are  made,  and 
i"Ge8prache,"  iii.  p.  299. 
255 


256  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

how,  at  his  very  advanced  age,  the  memory  of  youthful 
feehngs  must  have  come  back  upon  him  with  peculiar 
tenderness.  Whatever  caused  him  to  make  that  state- 
ment, the  statement  is  very  questionable.  I  do  not 
think  that  he  loved  T.ib"  more  than  Frederika ;  and  we 
shall  hereafter  have  positive  evidence  that  his  love  for 
the  Frau  von  Stein,  and  for  his  wife,  was  of  a  much 
deeper  and  more  enduring  nature.  "  My  love  for  Lili," 
he  said  to  Eckermann,  "  had  something  so  peculiar  and 
delicate,  that  even  now  it  has  influenced  my  style  in 
the  narrative  of  that  painfully  happy  epoch.  "When 
you  read  the  fourth  volume  of  my  Autobiography,  you 
will  see  that  my  love  was  something  quite  different 
from  love  in  novels." 

"Well,  the  fourth  volume  is  now  open  to  every  one, 
and  he  must  have  peculiar  powers  of  divination  who 
can  read  any  profound  passion  in  the  narrative.  A 
colder  love-liistory  was  never  written  by  a  poet.  There 
is  no  emotion  warming  the  narrative  ;  there  is  little 
of  a  loving  recollection,  gathering  all  details  into  one 
continuous  story ;  it  is,  indeed,  with  great  difficulty 
one  unravels  the  story  at  all.  He  seems  to  seize  every 
excuse  to  interrupt  the  narrative  by  general  reflections, 
or  by  sketches  of  other  poeple.  He  speaks  of  himself 
as  "  the  youth  of  whom  we  now  write  1 "  He  speaks 
of  her,  and  her  circle,  in  the  vaguest  manner ;  and  the 
feelings  which  agitated  him  we  must  "  read  between 
the  lines." 

It  is  very  true,  however,  that  the  love  there  de- 
picted is  unlike  the  love  depicted  in  novels.  In 
novels,  whatever  may  be  the  amount  of  foolishness 
with  which  the  writers  adumbrate  their  ideal  of  the 
passion,  this  truth,  at  least,  is  everywhere  set  forth, 
that  to  love  we  must  render  up  body  and  soul,  heart 
and  mind,  all  interests  and  all  desires,  all  prudences 
and  all  ambitions,  identifying  our  being  with  that  of 
another,  in  union  to  become  elevated.     To  love  is  for 


LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE  257 

the  soul  to  choose  a  companion,  and  travel  with  it 
along  the  perilous  defiles  and  winding  ways  of  life ; 
mutually  sustaining,  when  the  path  is  terrible  with 
dangers,  mutually  exhorting,  when  it  is  rugged  with 
obstructions,  and  mutually  rejoicing,  when  rich  broad 
plains  and  sunny  slopes  make  the  journey  a  delight, 
showing  in  the  quiet  distance  the  resting-place  we  all 
seek  in  this  world. 

It  was  not  such  companionship  he  sought  with  Lih ; 
it  was  not  such  self-devotion  which  made  him  rest- 
lessly happy  in  her  love.  This  child  of  sixteen,  in  all 
the  merciless  grace  of  maidenhood,  proudly  conscious 
of  her  power,  ensnared  his  roving  heart  through  the 
lures  of  passionate  desire,  but  she  never  touched  his 
soul ;  as  the  story  we  have  to  tell  will  sufficiently 
prove. 

Anna  Elizabeth  Schonemanu,  immortalised  as  Lili, 
was  the  daughter  of  a  great  banker  in  Frankfort,  and  a 
Frenchwoman  of  birth,  now  a  widow  living  in  splendid 
style.  She  was  sixteen  when  Goethe  first  fell  in  love 
with  her.  The  age  is  significant.  It  was  somewhat 
the  age  of  Frederika,  Lotte,  Antoinette,  and  Maximil- 
iane.  An  age  when  girlhood  has  charms  of  grace  and 
person,  of  beauty  and  freshness,  which  even  those  will 
not  deny  who  profoundly  feel  the  superiority  of  a 
developed  woman.  There  is  poetry  in  this  age ;  but 
there  is  no  depth,  no  fulness  of  character.  Imagine 
the  wide-sweeping  mind  of  the  author  of  "  Gotz," 
"  Faust,"  "  Prometheus,"  "  The  Wandering  Jew"  "  Ma- 
homet," in  companionship  with  the  mind  of  a  girl  of 
sixteen ! 

Young,  graceful,  and  charming,  she  was  confessedly 
a  coquette.  Early  in  their  acquaintance,  in  one  of 
those  pleasant  hours  of  overflowing  egotism  wherein 
lovers  take  pride  in  the  confession  of  faults  (not  with- 
out intimation  of  nobler  quaUties),  Lili  told  him  the 
story  of  her  Life ;  told  him  what  a  flirt  she  had  been ; 


258  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

told  him,  moreover,  that  she  had  tried  her  spells  on 
him,  and  was  punished  by  being  herself  ensnared. 
Armida  found  herself  spellbound  by  Einaldo ;  but 
this  Rinaldo  followed  her  into  the  enchanted  gardens 
more  out  of  adventurous  curiosity  than  love. 

There  was  considerable  difference  in  their  stations ; 
and  the  elegant  society  he  met  in  the  house  of  the 
banker's  widow  was  every  way  discordant  to  the  wild 
youth,  whose  thoughts  were  of  Nature,  and  uncon- 
strained freedom.  The  balls  and  concerts  to  which  he 
followed  her  were  little  to  his  taste.  "  If,"  he  writes 
to  Augusta  von  Stolberg,  "  if  you  can  imagine  a  Goethe 
in  braided  coat,  from  head  to  foot  in  the  gallantest 
costume,  amid  the  glare  of  chandeliers,  fastened  to  the 
card-table  by  a  pair  of  bright  eyes,  surrounded  by  all 
sorts  of  people,  driven  in  endless  dissipation  from 
concert  to  ball,  and  with  frivolous  interest  making 
love  to  a  pretty  blonde,  then  will  you  have  a  picture 
of  the  present  Carnival-Goethe."  In  the  following 
poem  he  expresses  Lili's  fascination  and  his  uneasiness 
(the  translation  aims  at  accuracy  of  meaning  rather 
than  poetry,  because  the  meaning  is  here  the  motive 
for  my  citing  the  poem) : 

"  Wherefore  so  resistlessly  dost  draw  me 
Into  scenes  so  bright? 
Had  I  not  enough  to  soothe  and  charm  me 
In  the  lonely  night? 

»<  Homely  in  my  little  room  secluded, 
While  the  moon's  bright  beams 
In  a  shimmering  light  fell  softly  on  me, 
As  I  lay  in  dreams. 

"  Dreaming  thro'  the  golden  hours  of  rapture 
Soothed  my  heart  to  rest. 
As  I  felt  thy  image  sweetly  living 
Deep  within  my  breast. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  259 


"  Can  it  be  1  sit  at  yonder  table, 
Gay  with  cards  and  lights, 
Forced  to  meet  intolerable  people. 
Because  'tis  she  invites  ? 

"  Alas !  the  gentle  bloom  of  spring  no  longer 
Cheereth  my  poor  heart, 
There  is  only  spring,  and  love,  and  nature, 
Angel,  where  thou  art !  " 

The  real  Goethe  is  thus  drawn  in  contrast  by  him- 
self in  his  letter  to  Augusta :  "  But  there  is  another, 
who  in  gray  beaver  coat,  with  boots,  and  a  brown  silk 
neckerchief,  who,  ever  living  in  himself,  working  and 
striving,  now  throwing  the  innocent  feelings  of  youth 
into  little  poems,  now  the  strong  spices  of  life  into 
dramas,  sketching  his  friends  in  chalk,  asking  neither 
riglit  nor  left  what  will  be  thought  of  his  doings,  be- 
cause he  always  rises  through  work  a  step  higher, 
because  he  springs  at  no  ideal,  but  lets  his  nature 
develop  itself  fighting  and  playing."  Here  the  true 
chord  vibrates.  Born  for  poetry,  and  not  to  pass  his 
life  in  ballrooms  danghng  after  a  pretty  blonde  who 
coquetted  with  him  and  with  others,  he  feels  that  his 
passion  is  a  folly.  Now  when  a  man  feels  that  — 
"  Cupid  may  have  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  but  I 
warrant  him  heart  whole."  Eead  this  poem,  and  read 
in  it  the  struggle  : 

"  Heart,  my  heart,  what  is  this  feeling, 

That  doth  weigh  on  thee  so  sore? 
What  new  life  art  thou  revealing, 

That  I  know  myself  no  more  ? 
Gone  is  all  that  once  was  dearest, 
Gone  the  care  that  once  was  nearest ; 
Gone  the  labour,  gone  the  bliss. 
Ah!  whence  comes  such  change  as  this? 
Ai't  thou  spellbound  by  the  beauty 

Of  a  sweetly  blooming  face  ; 


26o  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Beauteous  shape,  and  look  so  truthful, 

And  an  all-resistless  grace? 
When  the  bonds  I  strive  to  sever, 
Man  myself  to  flee  for  ever, 
Vain  are  all  my  efforts,  vain  ! 
And  but  lead  me  back  again. 

"  With  such  magic-web  she  binds  me, 

To  burst  through  I  have  no  skill ; 
All-absorbing  passion  blinds  me. 

Paralyses  my  poor  will. 
In  her  cliarmed  sphere  delaying, 
I  must  live,  her  will  obeying : 
Great,  oh  !  great  to  me  the  change ! 
Love,  oh  !  free  me  !  let  me  range  !  "  ^ 

Lili  coquetted,  and  her  coquetry  seems  to  have 
cooled  his  passion  for  awhile,  though  she  knew  how 
to  rekindle  it. 

Not  only  had  he  to  suffer  from  her  thoughtlessness, 
but  also  from  the  thoughtlessness  of  parents  on  both 
sides.  It  was  not  a  marriage  acceptable  to  either 
house.  The  banker's  daughter,  it  was  thought,  should 
marry  into  some  rich  or  noble  family.  A  poet,  who 
belonged  to  a  well-to-do  yet  comparatively  unimportant 
family,  was  not  exactly  the  bridegroom  most  desired. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  proud,  stiff  old  Eath  did  not 
greatly  rejoice  in  the  prospect  of  having  a  fine  lady 
for  his  daughter-in-law.  Cornelia,  who  knew  her 
father,  and  knew  his  pedantic  ways,  wrote  strongly 
against  the  marriage.  Merck,  Crespel,  Horn,  and 
other  friends,  were  all  decidedly  opposed  to  so  incom- 
patible a  match.  But  of  course  the  lovers  were  only 
thrown  closer  together  by  these  attempts  to  separate 
them. 

A   certain    Demoiselle   Delf   managed    to   overcome 

1  No  one  can  be  more  sensible  than  I  am  of  the  inadequacy  of 
this  translation,  but  the  Knijlish  reader  would  rather  liave  a  poor 
translation  than  an  oriii;inai  he  could  not  understand  ;  and  tlie 
(Jorinan  reader  has  only  to  turn  to  the  original  if  it  does  not 
linger  in  his  memory. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  261 

objections,  and  gain  the  consent  of  both  families. 
"  How  she  commenced  it,  how  she  got  over  the  ditii- 
culties,  I  know  not,  but  one  evening  she  came  to  us 
bringing  the  consent.  '  Take  each  other's  liands,'  she 
cried,  in  a  half-pathetic,  half-imperious  manner :  I 
advanced  to  Lih  and  held  out  my  hand :  in  it  she 
placed  hers,  not  indeed  reluctantly,  yet  slowly.  With 
a  deep  sigh  we  sank  into  each  other's  arms,  greatly 
agitated." 

No  formal  bethrothal  seems  to  have  taken  place. 
Indeed,  the  consent  which  was  obtained  seems  in 
nowise  to  have  altered  the  feeling  of  friends  and 
relatives.  The  nearer  marriage  seemed,  the  more 
impracticable  it  appeared.  To  Goethe,  after  the  first 
flush  of  joy  had  subsided,  the  idea  of  marriage 
was  in  itself  enough  to  make  him  uneasy,  and  to 
sharpen  his  sense  of  the  disparity  in  station.  The 
arrival  of  the  two  Counts  Stolberg,  and  their  proposal 
that  he  should  accompany  them  in  a  tour  through 
Switzerland,  gave  an  excuse  for  freeing  himself  from 
Lih,  "as  an  experiment  to  try  whether  he  could 
renounce  her." 

Before  accompanying  him  on  his  journey,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  cast  a  retrospective  glance  at  some  biographical 
details,  omitted  while  the  story  of  Lili  was  narrated. 
The  mornings  were  devoted  to  poetry,  the  middle  of 
the  day  to  jurisprudence.  Poetry  was  the  breathing- 
room  of  his  heart.  In  it  he  souglit  to  escape  from  tlie 
burden  of  intolerable  doubts.  "  If  I  did  not  write 
dramas  I  should  be  lost,"  he  tells  Augusta  von  Stol- 
berg. Among  these  dramas  we  must  place  "  Stella," 
for  which,  as  we  learn  from  a  letter  to  Merck,  the 
publisher  offered  twenty  dollars  —  that  is  to  say,  three 
pounds  sterling.  What  an  insight  this  gives  into 
the  state  of  Literature ;  the  author  of  two  immensely 
popular  works  is  offered  three  pounds  for  a  drama 
in  five  acts!     Poor   Schiller,  subsequently,  was   glad 


262  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

to  wTite  histories  and  translate  memoirs  for  fifteen  or 
eighteen  shilhngs  a  sheet  of  sixteen  pages. 

In  "  Stella "  I  can  trace  no  biographical  element, 
and  perhaps  the  absence  of  this  element  makes  the 
weakness  of  the  drama.  A  poorer  production  was  never 
owned  by  a  great  poet ;  although  there  have  not  been 
wanting  critics  to  see  in  this  also  the  broad  han- 
dling of  a  master.  It  is  the  old  story  of  the  Count  von 
Gleichen  and  his  two  wives.  Fernando  has  deserted 
his  wife,  and  formed  an  attachment  to  Stella ;  but  the 
peculiarity  of  the  situation  is,  that  he  quitted  Cecilia, 
his  wife,  from  no  assignable  cause,  without  even  having 
outlived  his  love  for  her.  He  has  indeed  every  reason 
to  respect  and  cherish  her  as  the  mother  of  his  child, 
and  as  a  high-principled,  virtuous  woman ;  but  he  flies 
from  her  hke  a  coward,  flies  to  one  more  passionate, 
because  she  gives  him  the  transports  of  passion  in 
exchange  for  his  wife's  calm  affection.  The  two 
women  meet,  and  discover  their  love  for  the  same 
man. 

Here  is  a  fine  dramatic  colhsion.  On  the  one  side 
Fernando  sees  Duty  in  the  shape  of  a  noble,  suffering 
wife,  and  an  engaging  daughter ;  on  the  other,  Passion 
in  the  shape  of  a  fascinating  mistress.  But  with  this 
suggestive  subject  Goethe  has  done  little.  He  shows 
us  the  contemptible  weakness  of  the  wavering  Fer- 
nando, but  the  subject  he  has  not  powerfully  wrought 
out.  As  I  cannot  recommend  any  one  to  read  this 
play,  the  two  masterly  touches  it  contains  may  here 
be  cited.     The  following  is  delicately  observed : 

"  We  women  believe  in  men  !  In  the  ardour  of  passion 
they  deceive  themselves,  how  then  can  we  help  being  deceived  by 
them  ?  " 

This  also  is  charming :  Fernando  returns  to  Stella 
after  a  long  absence,  and  in  their  endearments  she 
says : 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  263 

"  Stella.  How  we  love  you !  We  do  not  think  of  the  grief 
you  cause  us ! 

Fernando  (strokinff  her  hair).  And  has  the  grief  made 
your  hair  gray?  It  is  fortunate  your  hair  is  so  golden  .  .  . 
nay,  none  seems  to  have  fallen  out !  ( Takes  the  comb  from 
her  hair,  which  falls  on  her  shoulders.  He  then  twines  the  hair 
round  his  arm,  exclaiminy  :)  Rinaldo  once  more  in  the  ancient 
chains !  " 

Artists  complain  of  the  dearth  of  subjects ;  will  no 
one  try  his  hand  at  that  ?  Originally  the  d<jnoue- 
ment  of  this  "  play  for  lovers  "  (as  it  was  called)  solved 
the  difficulty  by  a  romantic  piece  of  bigamy.  Fernando 
is  about  to  fly  with  Ceciha  —  about  to  return  to  his 
duty,  when  his  wife  —  compassionating  the  situation 
of  Stella,  if  Fernando  should  leave  her  —  resolves  to 
sacrifice  her  conjugal  claims,  and  to  share  him  with 
Stella.  The  curtain  falls  as  he  embraces  them  both, 
exclaiming  :  "  Mine  '  mine  !  " 

This  roused  vehement  opposition.  It  was  said  to  be 
a  plea  in  favour  of  bigamy.  The  public  dimly  felt 
that,  instead  of  being  a  proper  solution  of  the  problem, 
it  was  on  the  whole  rather  ridiculous.  Still  more 
unsatisfactory,  however,  if  deeply  considered,  is  the 
denouement  which  was  added  when  the  play  was  pro- 
duced at  Weimar,  and  which  now  takes  the  place  of 
the  original  in  his  collected  works.  Therein  Fernando, 
unable  to  quit  Stella,  and  unable  to  quit  his  wife, 
weeps  with  both,  and  blows  his  brains  out.  This  is 
an  evasion  of  the  difficulty,  not  a  solution. 

In  1798,  a  feeble  translation  of  "Stella"  was  pub- 
lished in  England,  and  suggested  to  Canning  his  admi- 
rable caricature,  "  The  Eovers,"  familiar  to  all  readers 
of  the  Antijacobin.  Among  the  ludicrous  passages  of 
this  parody  is  the  famous  vow  of  friendship : 

"  Matilda.  A  sudden  thought  strikes  me.  Let  us  Bwear  au 
eternal  friendship. 

Cecilia.     Let  us  agree  to  live  together." 


264  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

But  this  is  really  a  very   slight  variation   from  the 
original : 

"  Stella.  Madame  !  Da  fahrt  mir  ein  Gedanke  durch  den 
Kopf — Wir  wollen  eiiiander  das  seyn,  was  sie  uns  hatten 
werden  sollen  !  Wir  wollen  beisammen  bleiben  !  —  Ihre  Hand  ! 
—  Von  diesem  Augenblick  an,  lass'  ich  Sie  nicht ! " 

Besides  "  Stella,"  he  vt^orked  at  "  Faust,"  translated 
Solomon's  Song,  and  wrote  the  opera  of  "  Claudine  von 
Villa  Bella,"  several  passages  for  Lavater's  "  Physiog- 
nomy," and  many  smaller  poems. 

The  Stolbergs,  with  whom  the  Swiss  journey  was 
made,  were  two  ardent  admirers  of  Klopstock,  and  two 
specimens  of  the  defiant  "  genius  "  class  which  scorned 
convention.  They  hated  imaginary  tyrants ;  outraged 
sober  citizens  by  their  reckless  recurrence  to  a  sup- 
posed "  state  of  nature ; "  and  astonished  sensible  citi- 
zens by  their  exaggerated  notions  of  friendship.  Merck 
was  pitiless  in  his  sarcasms  and  warnings.  He  could 
not  tolerate  the  idea  of  Goethe's  travelling  with  these 
JBurschen.  But  Goethe  had  too  much  of  kindred 
devilry  in  him,  breaking  out  at  moments,  to  object  to 
the  wildness  of  his  companions ;  though  he  began 
to  suspect  all  was  not  right  when,  after  violating 
every  other  convcnancc,  they  insisted  on  bathing  in 
public.  "  Nature  "  having  nothing  to  say  agamst  naked 
youths  in  the  bright  sunshine,  what  business  had  old 
Humdrum  to  cover  his  eyes  with  modest  hands,  and 
pretend  to  be  shocked  ?  However,  so  little  prepos- 
sessed was  Humdrum  in  favour  of  the  Nude,  that 
stones  were  showered  upon  these  children  of  Nature ; 
a  criticism  which  effectively  modified  their  practice,  if 
it  failed  to  alter  their  views. 

Drinking  the  health  of  Stolberg's  mistress,  and  tlien 
dashing  the  glasses  against  the  wall  to  prevent  their 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  265 

being  desecrated  by  other  lips  after  so  solemn  a  con- 
secration (a  process  which  looked  less  heroic  when 
itemed  in  the  bill  next  day),  and  otherwise  demeaning 
themselves  like  true  children  of  "  genius,"  they  passed 
a  wild  and  merry  time.  This  journey  need  not 
longer  detain  us.  Two  \'isits  alone  deserve  mention. 
One  was  to  Karl  August,  who  was  then  in  Karlsruhe 
arranging  his  marriage  with  the  Princess  Luise,  and 
who  very  pressingly  in\dted  the  poet  to  Weimar.  The 
other  was  to  his  sister  Cornelia,  who  earnestly  set 
before  him  aU  the  objections  to  a  marriage  with  Lili. 
"I  made  no  promises,"  he  says,  "although  forced  to 
confess  that  she  had  convinced  me.  I  left  her  with 
that  strange  feeling  in  my  heart  with  which  passion 
nourishes  itself;  for  the  boy  Cupid  clings  obstinately 
to  the  garment  of  Hope  even  when  she  is  preparing 
with  long  strides  to  depart."  The  image  of  Lili 
haunted  him  amid  the  lovely  scenes  of  Nature : 

"  Dearest  Lili,  if  I  did  not  love  thee, 

How  entrancing  were  a  scene  like  this ! 
Yet,  my  Lili,  if  I  did  not  love  thee, 
What  were  any  bliss  ?  " 

It  was  her  image  which  endeared  him  to  his  native 
land.  His  father,  always  desirous  he  should  see 
Italy,  was  now  doubly  anxious  he  should  go  there, 
as  the  surest  means  of  a  separation  from  Lili.  But 
"  Lombardy  and  Italy,"  says  the  poet,  "  lay  before  me 
a  strange  land ;  while  the  dear  home  of  Germany  lay 
behind,  full  of  sweet  domesticities,  and  where  —  let  me 
confess  it  —  she  lived  who  so  long  had  enchained 
me,  in  whom  my  existence  was  centred.  A  little 
golden  heart,  which  in  my  happiest  hours  I  had 
received  from  her,  still  hung  round  my  neck.  I  drew 
it  forth  and  covered  it  with  kisses." 

On  his  return  to  Frankfort  he  learned  that  Lili's 
friends  had  taken  advantage  of  his  absence  to  try  and 


266  LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

bring  about  a  separation,  arguing,  not  without  justice, 
that  his  absence  was  a  proof  of  lukewarmness.  But 
Lili  remained  firm ;  and  it  was  said  that  she  had 
declared  herself  willing  to  go  with  him  to  America. 
A  sentence  from  the  Autobiography  is  worth  quoting, 
as  a  specimen  of  that  love  "  so  unlike  the  love  to  be 
found  in  novels,"  which  he  declared  had  given  a 
peculiar  tone  to  his  narrative.  It  is  in  reference  to 
this  willingness  of  Lili  to  go  to  America :  "  the  very 
thing  which  should  have  animated  my  hopes  depressed 
them.  My  fair  paternal  house,  only  a  few  hundred 
paces  from  hers,  was  after  all  more  endurable  and 
attractive  than  a  remote,  hazardous  spot  beyond  the 
seas ! "  A  sentence  which  recalls  Gibbon's  antithesis, 
on  his  resignation  of  his  early  love :  "  I  sighed  as  a 
lover,  I  obeyed  as  a  son." 

He  was  restless  and  unhappy  during  these  months, 
for  he  was  not  strong  enough  to  give  up  Lih,  nor 
sufficiently  in  love  to  marry  her ;  jealous  of  those  who 
surrounded  her,  hurt  by  her  coldness,  he  was  every 
now  and  then  led  captive  by  her  tenderness.  There 
were  moments  when  bygone  days  seemed  once  more 
restored,  and  then  instantly  vanished  again.  His  poem 
of  "  Lili's  Menagerie "  expresses  his  surly  disgust  at 
the  familiar  faces  which  surround  her.  The  Bear  of  the 
menagerie  is  a  portrait  of  himself. 

Turning  to  Art  for  consolation,  he  began  the  tragedy 
of  "  Egmont,"  which  he  completed  many  years  after- 
ward in  Italy.  It  was  a  work  which  demanded  more 
repose  than  could  be  found  in  his  present  condition, 
and  I  hasten  to  the  denouement  of  an  episode,  which, 
amid  fluctuations  of  feehng,  steadily  advanced  to  an 
end  that  must  have  been  foreseen.  The  betrothal  was 
cancelled.  He  was  once  more  free.  Free,  but  not 
happy.  His  heart  still  yearned  for  her,  rather  be- 
cause there  lay  in  his  nature  a  need  of  loving,  tlian 
because  she  was  the  woman  fitted  to  share  his  life. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  267 

He  lingered  about  the  house  o'  nights,  wrapped  in  his 
mantle,  satisfied  if  he  could  catch  a  ghmpse  of  her 
shadow  on  the  blmd,  as  she  moved  about  the  room. 
One  night  he  heard  her  singing  at  the  piano.  His 
pulses  throbbed,  as  he  distinguished  his  own  song : 

"  Wherefore  so  resistlessly  dost  draw  me 
Into  scenes  so  bright  ?  "  — 

the  song  he  had  written  in  the  morning  of  their  happi- 
ness!  Her  voice  ceased.  She  rose,  and  walked  up 
and  down  the  room,  little  dreaming  that  her  lover  was 
beneath  her  window. 

To  give  decision  to  his  wavering  feelings,  there  came, 
most  opportunely,  a  \'isitor  to  Frankfort.  This  was 
in  September.  Karl  August,  with  his  bride,  on  his 
way  to  Weimar,  once  more  pressed  him  to  spend  a  few 
weeks  at  his  court.  The  rapid  inchnation  which  had 
sprung  up  between  the  Prince  and  the  Poet  —  the 
desire  to  see  something  of  the  great  world  —  the  desire, 
moreover,  to  quit  Frankfort,  all  combined  to  make 
him  eagerly  accept  the  invitation.  His  father,  indeed, 
tried  to  dissuade  him;  partly  because  he  did  not 
like  the  intercourse  of  plain  citizens  with  princes ; 
partly  because  the  recent  experience  of  Voltaire  with 
Frederick  the  Great  seemed  to  point  to  an  inevitable 
termination  in  disgrace,  if  not  evaded  by  serviUty. 
His  consent  was  extorted  at  last,  however,  and  Goethe 
quitted  for  ever  the  paternal  roof. 

Eighteen  months  afterward  Lili  married  a  rich 
banker,  Bernhard  von  Tiirkheim,  with  whom  she  lived 
happily  as  wife  and  mother,  though  cherishing  a  tender 
romantic  feeling  for  her  early  admirer,  and  this  all  the 
more  now  that  he  had  become  a  world-famous  poet. 
Eighteen  years  afterward  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  her,  in 
a  letter  of  the  Countess  von  Beaulieu-Maconnay,  who 
describes  her  as  preserving  a  passionate  veneration  for 


268  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

the  one  being  who  had  prescribed  her  path  in  hfe  to 
her,  who  had  generously  refused  the  sacrifice  she  had 
offered  him,  and  whose  spiritual  influence  had  made 
her  what  she  was.^ 

iSee  Stahr:    "Goethe's  Frauengestalten."    3d  Aufl.   1870,  i. 
p.  239. 


Book   the    Fourth 

1775  to   1779 


"  Quis  noviis  hie  nostris  successit  sedibus  hospes? 
Quern  sese  ore  fereiis  !  qiiam  forti  pectore  et  arniis  ! 
Credo  equidem,  nee  vana  fides,  geuus  esse  Deorura." 

—  Virgil. 

"  Tolle  Zeiten  hab'  ich  erlebt  und  liab'  nicht  ermaiigelt, 
Selbst  aiich  thoricht  zu  sein  wie  es  die  Zeit  mir  gebot." 


269 


CHAPTEK   I. 

WEIMAR    IN    THE    EIGHTEENTH    CENTURY. 

On  the  7th  of  November,  1775,  Goethe,  aged  twenty- 
six,  arrived  at  the  httle  city  on  the  banks  of  the  Ihn, 
where  his  long  residence  was  to  confer  on  an  insignifi- 
cant duchy  the  immortal  renown  of  a  German  Athens. 

Small  indeed  is  the  space  occupied  on  the  map  by 
the  duchy  of  Saxe- Weimar ;  yet  the  historian  of  the 
German  courts  declares,  and  truly,  that  after  Berlin 
there  is  no  court  of  which  the  nation  is  so  proud.^ 
Frederick  the  Great  and  Wolfgang  Goethe  have  raised 
these  courts  into  centres  of  undying  interest.  Of 
Weimar  it  is  necessary  we  should  form  a  distinct  idea, 
if  we  would  understand  the  outward  life  of  the  poet. 

"Klein  ist  unter  den  Fiirsten  Germaniens  freilich  der  meine, 
Kurz  und  schnial  ist  sein  Land,  massig  nur  was  er  vermag." 

"Small  among  German  princes  is  mine,  poor  and 
narrow  his  kingdom,  limited  his  power  of  doing  good." 
Thus  sings  Goethe  in  that  poem,  so  honourable  to  both, 
wherein  he  acknowledges  his  debt  to  Karl  August. 
The  geographical  importance  of  Weimar  was,  and  is, 
small ;  but  we  in  England  have  proud  reason  to  know 
how  great  a  place  in  the  world  can  be  filled  by  a 
nation  whose  place  is  trivial  on  the  map.  We  know, 
moreover,  that  the  Athens,  which  it  is  the  pride  of 
Weimar  to  claim  as  a  patronymic,  was  but  a  dot  upon 
the  surface  of  Europe,  a  dot  of  earth,  feeding  some 
twenty  thousand  freemen,  who  not  only  extended  the 

iVehse;  "  Geschichte  der  Deutschen  Hofe  seit  der  Reforma- 
tion," vol.  xxviii.  p.  3. 

271 


272  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

empire  of  their  arms  from  Euboea  to  the  Thracian 
Bosphorus,  but  who  left  their  glories  in  Literature, 
Philosophy,  and  Art,  as  marvels  and  as  models  for  the 
civilised  world.  It  is  interesting,  therefore,  to  know 
how  small  this  duchy  of  Saxe- Weimar  was,  that  we 
may  appreciate  the  influence  exercised  by  means  so 
circumscribed.  We  must  know  how  absurdly  scant 
the  income  of  its  generous  prince,  who,  as  I  am  credi- 
bly informed,  would  occasionally  supply  the  deficien- 
cies of  his  purse  by  the  princely  unprinceliness  of 
selling  to  the  Jews  a  diamond  ring,  or  ancestral  snufif- 
box,  that  he  might  hand  the  proceeds  to  some  strug- 
gling artist  or  poet.  I  mention  this  lest  it  should 
be  supposed  that  a  sarcastic  spirit  has  dictated  tlie 
enumeration  of  unimposing  details,  in  the  following 
attempt  to  reconstruct  some  image  of  Weimar  and 
its  court. 

Weimar  is  an  ancient  city  on  the  Ilm,  a  small  stream 
rising  in  the  Thuringian  forests,  and  losing  itself  in  the 
Saale,  at  Jena ;  this  stream  (on  which  the  sole  naviga- 
tion seems  to  be  that  of  ducks)  meanders  peacefully 
through  pleasant  valleys,  except  during  the  rainy  sea- 
son, when  mountain-torrents  swell  its  current,  and 
overflow  its  banks.  The  Trent,  between  Trentham 
and  Stafford  —  "  the  smug  and  silver  Trent,"  as  Shake- 
speare calls  it  —  will  give  an  idea  of  this  stream.  The 
town  is  charmingly  placed  in  the  Ilm  valley,  and 
stands  some  eight  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
sea.  "Weimar,"  says  the  old  topographer,  Matliew 
Merian,  "  is  Weinmar,  because  it  was  the  wine  mar- 
ket for  Jena  and  its  environs.  Others  say  it  was 
because  some  one  here  in  ancient  days  began  to  plant 
the  vine,  who  was  hence  called  Wcinmaycr.  But  of 
this  each  reader  may  believe  just  what  he  pleases."  ^ 

On  a  first  acquaintance,  Weimar  seems  more  hke  a 

1  "  Topograph ia  Superioris  Saxoniae,  Thuriugiae,"  etc.,  1G50, 
p.  188. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  273 

village  bordering  a  park,  than  a  capital  with  a  court, 
having  all  courtly  environments.  It  is  so  quiet,  so 
simple ;  and  although  ancient  in  its  architecture, 
has  none  of  the  picturesqueness  which  dehghts  the 
eye  in  most  old  German  cities.  The  stone-coloured, 
light  brown,  and  apple-green  houses  have  high-peaked, 
slanting  roofs,  but  no  quaint  gables,  no  caprices  of 
architectural  fancy,  none  of  the  mingling  of  varied 
styles  which  elsewhere  charms  the  traveller.  One  learns 
to  love  its  quiet,  simple  streets  and  pleasant  paths,  fit 
theatre  for  the  simple  actors  moving  across  the  scene ; 
but  one  must  live  there  some  time  to  discover  its 
charm.  The  aspect  it  presented,  when  Goethe  arrived, 
was  of  course  very  different  from  that  presented  now 
(in  1854) ;  but  by  diligent  inquiry  we  may  get  some 
rough  image  of  the  place  restored.  First  be  it  noted 
that  the  city  walls  were  still  erect :  gates  and  portculHs 
still  spoke  of  days  of  warfare.  Within  these  walls 
were  six  or  seven  hundred  houses,  not  more,  most  of 
them  very  ancient.  Under  these  roofs  were  about 
seven  thousand  inhabitants  —  for  the  most  part  not 
handsome.  The  city  gates  were  strictly  guarded.  No 
one  could  pass  through  them  in  cart  or  carriage  with- 
out leaving  his  name  in  the  sentinel's  book ;  even 
Goethe,  minister  and  favourite,  could  not  escape  this 
tiresome  formality ;  as  we  gather  from  one  of  his 
letters  to  the  Frau  von  Stein,  directing  her  to  go  out 
alone,  and  meet  him  beyond  the  gates,  lest  their  exit 
together  should  be  known.  During  Sunday  service  a 
chain  was  thrown  across  the  streets  leading  to  the 
church,  to  bar  out  all  passengers;  a  practice  to  this 
day  partially  retained :  the  chain  is  fastened,  but  the 
passengers  step  over  it  without  ceremony.  There  was 
little  safety  at  night  in  those  silent  streets ;  for  if  you 
were  in  no  great  danger  from  marauders,  you  were  in 
constant  danger  of  breaking  a  limb  in  some  hole  or 
other ;  the  idea  of  lighting  streets  not  having  presented 


274  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

itself  to  the  Thuringian  mind.  In  the  year  1685,  the 
streets  of  London  were  first  lighted  with  lamps ;  in 
1775  Germany  had  not  yet  ventured  on  that  experi- 
ment. If  in  1854  Weimar  is  still  innocent  of  gas,  and 
perplexes  its  inhabitants  with  the  dim  obscurity  of  an 
occasional  oil-lamp  slung  on  a  cord  across  the  streets, 
we  can  understand  that  in  1775  it  had  not  even 
advanced  so  far.     And  our  supposition  is  exact.^ 

The  palace,  which  now  forms  three  sides  of  a  quad- 
rangle, and  is  truly  palatial  in  appearance,  was  in  ashes 
when  Goethe  arrived.  The  ducal  pair  inhabited  the 
Furstenhaus,  which  stands  opposite.  The  park  was 
not  in  existence.  In  its  place  there  was  the  Welsche 
Garten,  a  garden  arranged  after  the  pattern  of  Ver- 
sailles, with  trees  trimmed  into  set  shapes,  with  square 
beds,  canals,  bridges,  and  a  Babylonic  spiral  tower 
called  Die  Schnecke,  in  which  the  people  assembled  to 
hear  music,  and  to  enjoy  punch  and  sweet  cakes.  To 
the  left  of  this  garden  stood  the  nucleus  of  the  present 
park,  and  a  wooded  mass  stretching  as  far  as  Upper 
Weimar. 

Saxe-Weimar  has  no  trade,  no  manufactures,  no  ani- 
mation of  commercial,  political,  or  even  theological 
activity.  This  part  of  Saxony,  be  it  remembered,  was 
the  home  and  shelter  of  Protestantism  in  its  birth. 
Only  a  few  miles  from  Weimar  stands  Wartburg, 
where  Luther,  in  the  disguise  of  Squire  George,  lived 
in  safety,  translating  the  Bible,  and  hurhng  his  ink- 
stand at  the  head  of  Satan,  like  a  rough-handed  dispu- 
tant as  he  was.  In  the  market-place  of  Weimar  stand, 
to  this  day,  two  houses  from  the  windows  of  which 
Tetzel  advertised  his  indulgences,  and  Luther  afterward 
in  fiery  indignation  fulminated  against  them.     These 

1  In  a  decree  made  at  Cassel,  in  1775,  this  sentence  is  noticeable  : 
"  In  every  house  as  soon  as  the  alarum  sounds  at  nipht,  every 
inhabitant  must  hold  out  a  lifihted  lantern,  in  order  that  the 
people  may  find  their  way  in  the  streets." — Quoted  by  Bieder- 
mann  :  "  Deutschland  im  18ten  Jahrhundert,"  i.  p.  370. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  275 

records  of  religious  struggle  still  remain,  but  are  no 
longer  suggestions  for  the  continuance  of  the  strife. 
The  fire  is  burnt  out ;  and  perhaps  in  no  city  of  Europe 
is  theolog)'  so  placid,  so  entirely  at  rest.  The  Wart- 
burg  still  rears  its  picturesque  eminence  over  the  lovely 
Thuringian  valleys ;  and  Luther's  room  is  visited  by 
thousands  of  pilgrims ;  but  in  this  very  palace  of  the 
Wartburg,  beside  the  room  where  Luther  struggled 
with  Satan,  the  visitors  are  shown  the  Banqueting-Hall 
of  the  Minnesingers,  where  poet  challenged  poet,  and 
the  Sdngerhney,  or  Minstrels'  Contest,  was  celebrated. 
The  contrast  may  be  carried  further.  It  may  be  taken 
as  a  symbol  of  the  intellectual  condition  of  Saxe-Wei- 
mar,  that  while  the  relics  of  Luther  are  simply  pre- 
served, the  Minstrel  Hall  is  now  being  restored  in  more 
than  its  pristine  splendour.  Lutheran  theology  is 
trumbhng  away,  just  as  the  famous  inhspot  has  disap- 
peared beneath  the  gradiial  scrapings  of  visitors'  pen- 
knives ;  but  the  minstrelsy,  of  which  the  Germans  are 
so  proud,  daily  receives  fresh  honour  and  adulation. 
Nor  is  this  adulation  a  mere  revival.  Every  year  the 
Wartburi;  saw  assembled  the  members  of  that  numer- 
ous  family  (the  Bachs)  which,  driven  from  Hungary  in 
the  period  of  Reform,  had  settled  in  Saxony,  and  had 
given,  besides  the  great  John  Sebastian  Bach,  many 
noble  musicians  to  the  world.  Too  numerous  to  gain 
a  livelihood  in  one  city,  the  Bachs  agreed  to  meet  every 
year  at  the  Wartburg.  This  custom,  which  was  con- 
tinued till  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century,  not  only 
presented  the  singular  spectacle  of  one  family  consist- 
ing of  no  less  than  a  hundred  and  twenty  musicians, 
but  was  also  the  occasion  of  musical  entertainments 
such  as  were  never  heard  before.  They  began  by  relig- 
ious hymns,  sung  in  chorus ;  they  then  took  for  their 
theme  some  popular  song,  comic  or  licentious,  varying 
it  by  the  improvisation  of  four,  five,  or  six  parts ;  these 
improvisations    were    named    Quolihets,   and   are    con- 


276  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

sidered  by  many  writers  to   have  been  the  origin  of 
German  opera. 

The  theologic  fire  has  long  burnt  itself  out  in  Thu- 
ringia.  In  Weimar,  where  Luther  preached,  another 
preacher  came,  whom  we  know  as  Goethe.  In  the  old 
church  there  is  one  portrait  of  Luther,  painted  by  his 
friend  Lucas  Kranach,  greatly  prized,  as  well  it  may 
be ;  but  for  this  one  portrait  of  Luther,  there  are  a  hun- 
dred of  Goethe.  It  is  not  Luther,  but  Goethe,  they 
think  of  here;  poetry,  not  theology,  is  the  glory  of 
Weimar.  And,  corresponding  with  this,  we  find  the 
dominant  characteristic  of  the  place  to  be  no  magnifi- 
cent church,  no  picturesque  ancient  buUdings,  no  visi- 
ble image  of  the  earlier  ages,  but  the  sweet  serenity  of 
a  lovely  park.  The  park  fills  the  foreground  of  the 
picture,  and  always  rises  first  in  the  memory.  Any 
one  who  has  spent  happy  hours  wandering  through  its 
sunny  walks  and  winding  shades,  watching  its  beau- 
ties changing  through  the  fulness  of  summer,  and  the 
striking  contrasts  of  autumn  as  it  deepens  into  winter, 
will  easily  understand  how  Goethe  could  have  been 
content  to  hve  in  so  smaU  a  city,  which  had,  besides 
its  nest  of  friends,  so  charming  a  park.  It  was  indeed 
mainly  his  own  creation ;  and  as  it  fiUed  a  large  space 
in  his  life,  it  demands  more  than  a  passing  allusion 
here. 

Southwards  from  the  palace  it  begins,  with  no  obsta- 
cle of  wall  or  iron  gate,  servant  or  sentinel,  to  seem  to 
shut  us  out,  so  let  us  enter  and  look  around.  In  the 
dew  of  morning,  and  in  the  silence  of  moonlight,  we 
may  wander  undisturbed  as  if  in  our  own  grounds.  The 
land  stretches  for  miles  away  without  barrier ;  park 
and  yellow  cornlands  forming  one  friendly  expanse. 
If  we  pass  into  it  from  the  palace  gates,  a  winding  path 
to  the  riiT^ht  conducts  us  into  the  Belvedere  All^e :  a 
magnificent  avenue  of  chestnut-trees,  two  miles  long, 
stretching  from  the  new  street  to  the  summer  palace 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  277 

of  Belvedere.  This  affords  a  shaded  promenade  along 
the  park,  in  summer  grateful  for  its  coolness,  in  autumn 
looking  like  an  avenue  of  golden  trees.  It  terminates 
in  the  gardens  of  the  Belvedere,  which  has  its  park 
also  beautifully  disposed.  Here  the  Weimarians  resort, 
to  enjoy  the  fresh  air  after  their  fashion,  namely,  with 
accompaniments  of  bad  beer,  questionable  coffee,  and 
detestable  tobacco. 

If,  instead  of  turning  into  the  Belvedere  AlMe,  we 
keep  within  the  park,  our  walks  are  so  numerous  that 
choice  becomes  perplexing.  Let  us  cross  the  Stern 
BrucTce,  a  bridge  leading  from  the  palace.  Turning  to 
our  right,  we  pass  along  through  noble  trees,  charmed 
by- 

"  The  sound  of  a  hidden  brook 
In  the  leafy  month  of  June, 
Which  to  the  quiet  trees  all  night 
Singeth  a  quiet  tune." 

We  reach  the  broad  road  leading  to  Upper  Weimar. 
On  this  road,  which  skirts  a  meadow  washed  by  the 
Ilm,  we  shall  pass  Goethe's  Gartenhaus  (Garden  House, 
to  be  described  hereafter),  and  then  winding  round  the 
meadow,  cross  another  bridge,  and  enter  a  shadowy 
path,  picturesque  with  well-grouped  trees  —  the  sol- 
emn pine,  the  beech,  whose  dark  green  patches  of 
moss  increase  the  brilliancy  of  its  silver  bark,  the 
weeping  birch  with  its  airy  elegance  of  form,  the  plane- 
tree,  the  elm,  the  chestnut  and  the  mountain  ash 
brilliant  with  berries  hanging  like  clusters  of  coral 
against  the  deep  blue  of  the  sky.  One  steep  side  of 
this  path  is  craggy  with  masses  of  moss-covered  rock ; 
beneath  the  other  flows  the  Ilm.  A  few  paces  from 
the  bridge  which  leads  us  liere  stands  the  Borl'cnhaus 
(Bark  House),  a  hermit's  hut,  erected  by  Goethe  for  a 
fete  of  the  duchess,  and  subsequently  the  favourite 
residence  of  the  duke.     It  is  only  twenty  feet  long  and 


278  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

fourteen  deep,  built  entirely  of  wood,  and  plastered  (so 
to  speak)  with  the  bark  of  trees.  It  rests  against  a 
rock  amid  the  trees,  and  is  surrounded  by  a  wooden 
gallery,  reached  by  rough  wooden  steps.  Where  is  the 
prince  who  would  live  in  such  a  hut  nowadays  ? 
Where  are  the  ministers  who  would  attend  council  in 
such  a  hut  ?  Yet,  here  Karl  August  lived  alone,  glad 
to  escape  from  the  tedium  of  etiquette,  and  the  palling 
pleasures  of  a  little  court.  Here  he  debated  affairs  of 
state,  not  less  momentous  to  him  because  they  were 
trivial  in  European  politics.  Here  he  bathed  in  the 
Ilm  running  beneath.  Here  he  could  see  the  garden- 
house  of  his  poet,  and  telegraph  to  him  across  the 
Park.  In  this  single  room,  which  was  at  once  dining- 
room,  council-chamber,  study,  and  bedroom,  the  manly 
duke  lived  alone  for  months. 

From  the  Borkcnhaus  a  small  flight  of  stone  steps 
conducts  us  to  a  mimic  Euin,  and  thence  a  narrow 
winding  path  leads  to  a  stone  monument,  interesting 
as  a  witness  to  the  growth  of  a  mythos.  It  is  an 
antique  column,  four  feet  high,  round  which  a  serpent 
winds,  in  the  act  of  devouring  the  offering  cakes  on 
the  top.  The  inscription  says  Genio  Loci.  But  the 
Weimar  plebs,  disregarding  antique  symbols,  and  im- 
perfectly acquainted  with  Virgil,  has  a  legend  to  tell ; 
a  legend  sprung,  no  one  knows  whence,  rapid  and 
mysterious  as  the  growth  of  fungi,  like  most  legends, 
to  satisfy  the  imperious  craving  for  eiylanations ;  a 
legend  which  certifies  how,  formerly,  a  huge  serpent 
dwelt  in  this  spot,  the  terror  of  Weimar,  until  a  cun- 
ning baker  bethought  him  of  placing  poisoned  cakes 
within  the  monster's  reach ;  and  when  the  greedy 
ignorance  of  the  serpent  had  reheved  Weimar  of  the 
monster,  a  grateful  people  erected  this  monument  to 
an  energetic  and  inventive  baker.  Et  voild,  comme  on 
Scrit  Vhistoire. 

I  will  not  fatigue  the  reader  by  dragging  him  all 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  279 

over  this  much-loved  park,  which  must  be  enjoyed 
directly,  not  through  description  ;  ^  enough  for  present 
purposes  if  it  be  added  that,  while  the  summer  palace 
of  Belvedere  is  connected  with  Weimar  by  the  chest- 
nut avenue,  the  summer  palace  and  park  of  Tiefurt  is 
also  connected  with  Weimar  by  a  richly  wooded  road, 
the  Webicht.  This  Tiefurt  is  a  tiny  little  place,  quite 
a  curiosity  of  diminutiveness.  The  park,  through 
wliich  runs  a  branch  of  the  II m,  is  tiny  but  pic- 
turesque. The  upper  story  of  the  palace  is  a  labyrinth 
of  tiny  rooms,  some  of  them  so  small  that,  standing 
with  your  back  against  one  wall,  you  can  touch  the 
opposite  wall  with  your  hand.  It  w^as  here  the  Duch- 
ess Amalia  lived. 

"  I  have  hved  here  fifty  years,"  said  Goethe  to  Eck- 
ermann,  "  and  where  have  I  not  been  ?  but  I  was 
always  glad  to  return  to  Weimar."  The  stranger  may 
wonder  wherein  lies  the  charm ;  but  a  residence  at 
Weimar  soon  reveals  the  secret.  Among  the  charms 
are  the  environs.  First  there  is  Ettersburg,  with  its 
palace,  woods,  and  park,  some  seven  miles  distant. 
Then  there  is  Bercka  with  its  charming  valley,  dear 
to  all  pedestrians,  within  half  a  dozen  miles ;  a  little 
further  is  Jena  and  its  enchanting  valley,  from  whose 
heights  we  look  down  on  the  sombre  city,  rendered 
illustrious  by  so  many  sounding  names.  Jena  was  to 
science  what  Weimar  was  to  poetry.  Assembled 
there  were  men  like  Griesbach,  Paulus,  Baumgarten- 
Crusius,  and  Danz,  to  teach  theolog}' ;  Schelliug, 
Eichte,  Hegel,  Reinhold,  and  Fries,  to  teach  philos- 
ophy ;  Loder,  Hufeland,  Oken,  Dobereiner,  to  teach 
science ;  Luden,  Schultz,  and  others,  for  history.  The 
Schlegels  and  the  Humboldts  also  lent  their  lustre  to 
the  place.     Besides  Jena,  we  must  mention  Ilmenau, 

1  If  a  fuller  description  be  desired,  the  reader  will  find  one  in 
the  charming  pages  of  Stahr's  "Weimar  und  Jena,"  to  which  I 
take  this  occasion  of  acknowledging  a  large  debt. 


28o  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Eisenach,  the  Thuringian  forests,  and  the  valley  of  the 
Saale :  environs  attractive  enough  for  the  most  restless 
wanderer. 

Having  thus  sketched  the  main  features  of  the 
jplace,  it  will  now  be  desirable  to  give  some  indication 
of  the  times,  that  we  may  understand  the  atmosphere 
in  which  Goethe  lived.  Difficult  as  the  restoration  of 
Weimar  has  been  to  me,  and  only  possible  through 
the  aid  of  what  still  remains  from  the  old  time,  the 
difficulty  has  been  tenfold  with  regard  to  the  more 
changing  aspects  of  society  and  opinion.  Curiously 
enough,  the  Germans,  famous  for  writing  on  all  sub- 
jects, have  produced  no  work  on  the  state  of  manners 
and  the  domestic  conditions  of  this  much  be-written 
period.  The  books  on  Goethe  are  endless ;  there  is 
not  one  which  tells  us  of  the  outward  circumstances 
among  which  he  moved.  From  far  and  wide  I  have 
gathered  together  some  details  which  may  aid  in  form- 
ing a  picture. 

Eemember  that  we  are  in  the  middle  of  the  eight- 
eenth century.  The  French  Eevolution  is  as  yet  only 
gathering  its  forces  together;  nearly  twenty  years 
must  elapse  before  the  storm  breaks.  The  chasm 
between  that  time  and  our  own  is  vast  and  deep. 
Every  detail  speaks  of  it.  To  begin  with  Science  — 
everywhere  the  torch  of^  civihsation  —  it  is  enough  to 
say  that  Chemistry  did  not  then  exist.  Abundant 
materials  indeed  existed,  but  that  which  makes  a 
Science,  viz.,  the  power  of  prevision  based  on  quantita- 
tive knowledge,  was  still  absent ;  and  Alchemy  main- 
tained its  place  among  the  conflicting  hypotheses  of 
the  day.  Goethe  in  Frankfort  was  busy  with  re- 
searches after  the  "  virgin  earth."  The  philosopher's 
stone  had  many  eager  seekers.  In  1787  Semler  sent 
to  the  Academy  of  Berlin  his  discovery  that  gold 
grew  in  a  certain  atmospheric  salt,  when  kept  moist 
and  warm.     Klaproth,  in  the  name  of  the  Academy, 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  281 

examined  this  salt,  and  found  indeed  gold  leaf  in  it  — 
which  had  been  put  there  by  Semler's  servant  to 
encourage  his  master's  credulity.  This  age,  so  incredu- 
lous in  religion,  was  credulous  in  science.  In  spite  of 
all  the  labours  of  the  Encyclopedists,  in  spite  of  all  the 
philosophic  and  religious  "  enlightenment,"  in  spite  of 
Voltaire  and  La  Mettrie,  it  was  possible  for  Count  St. 
Germain  and  Cagliostro  to  delude  thousands :  and 
Casanova  found  a  dupe  in  the  Marquise  d'Urf^,  who 
believed  he  could  restore  her  youth,  and  make  the 
moon  impregnate  her!  It  was  in  1774  that  Mesmer 
astonished  Vienna  with  his  marvels  of  mystic  magnet- 
ism. The  secret  societies  of  Freemasons  and  Illumi- 
nati,  mystic  in  their  ceremonies  and  chimerical  in 
their  hopes  —  now  in  quest  of  the  philosopher's  stone, 
now  in  quest  of  the  perfectibility  of  mankind  —  a 
mixture  of  rehgious,  pohtical,  and  mystical  reveries, 
flourished  in  all  parts  of  Germany,  and  in  all  circles. 
With  Science  in  so  imperfect  a  condition,  we  are 
sure  to  find  a  corresponding  poverty  in  material  com- 
fort and  luxury.  High-roads,  for  example,  were  only 
found  in  certain  parts  of  Germany ;  Prussia  had  no 
chauss^e  till  1787.  Milestones  were  unknown,  al- 
though finger-posts  existed.  Instead  of  facilitating 
the  transit  of  travellers,  it  was  thought  good  polit- 
ical economy  to  obstruct  them,  for  the  longer  they 
remained  the  more  money  they  spent  in  the  country. 
A  century  earlier,  stage-coaches  were  known  in  Eng- 
land ;  but  in  Germany,  public  conveyances,  very  rude 
to  this  day  in  places  where  no  railway  exists,  were 
few  and  miserable ;  nothing  but  open  carts  with  un- 
stuffed  seats.  Diligences  on  springs  were  unknown 
before  1800  ;  and  what  they  were,  not  many  years 
ago,  many  readers  doubtless  remember.  Then  as  to 
speed.  In  1754  there  was  "the  flying  coach"  running 
from  Manchester  to  London,  but  taking  four  days  and 
a  half  on  the  journey.     In  1763  there  was  a  coach 


282  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

between  Edinburgh  and  London,  once  a  month ;  it 
passed  twelve  or  fourteen  days  on  the  road ;  though 
even  in  our  own  stage-coach  days  the  distance  was 
performed  in  forty-eight  hours.  And  as  England  was 
a  busy  nation,  always  in  a  hurry,  we  may  gather  from 
these  details  some  idea  of  the  rapidity  of  German 
travel.  Germans  were  not  flurried  by  agitations  as  to 
loss  of  time :  if  you  travelled  post,  it  was  said  with 
pride  that  seldom  more  than  an  hour's  waiting  was 
necessary  before  the  horses  were  got  ready,  —  at  least 
on  frequented  routes.  Mail  travelHng  was  at  the  rate 
of  five  Enghsh  miles  in  an  hour  and  a  quarter.  Letters 
took  nine  days  from  Berlin  to  Frankfort  (which  in 
1854  required  only  twenty-four  hours).  So  slow  was 
the  communication  of  news  that,  as  we  learn  from 
the  Stein  correspondence,  the  death  of  Frederick  the 
Great  was  only  known  in  Carlsbad  as  a  rumour  a 
week  afterward.  "  By  this  time,"  writes  Goethe,  "  you 
must  know  in  Weimar  if  it  be  true."  With  these 
obstacles  to  locomotion,  it  was  natural  that  men  trav- 
elled but  rarely,  and  mostly  on  horseback.  What  the 
inns  were  may  be  imagined  from  the  iufrequency  of 
travellers,  and  the  general  state  of  domestic  comfort. 

The  absence  of  comfort  and  luxury  (luxury  as  dis- 
tinguished from  ornament)  may  be  gathered  from  the 
Memoirs  of  the  time,  and  from  such  works  as  Bertuch's 
"  Mode  Journal."  Such  necessities  as  good  locks, 
doors  that  shut,  drawers  opening  easily,  tolerable 
knives,  carts  on  springs,  or  beds  fit  for  a  Christian  of 
any  other  than  the  German  persuasion,  are  still  rarities 
in  Thuringia ;  but  in  those  days,  when  sewers  were 
undreamed  of,  and  a  post-office  was  only  a  vision, 
much  that  we  moderns  consider  as  comfort  was  nec- 
essarily wanting.  The  furniture,  even  of  palaces,  was 
extremely  simple.  In  the  houses  of  wealthy  bour- 
geois, chairs  and  tables  were  of  common  deal ;  not 
until  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century  did  mahogany 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  283 

make  its  appearance.  Looking-glasses  followed.  The 
chairs  were  covered  with  a  coarse  green  cloth  ;  the 
tables  likewise ;  and  carpets  are  only  now  beginning 
to  loom  upon  the  national  mind  as  a  possible  luxury. 
The  windows  were  hung  with  woollen  curtains,  when 
the  extravagance  of  curtains  was  ventured  on.  Easy- 
chairs  were  unknown ;  the  only  armchair  allowed  was 
the  so-called  Grandfathers  chair,  which  was  reserved 
for  the  dignity  of  gray  hairs,  or  the  feebleness  of  age. 

The  salon  de  reception,  or  drawing-room,  into  wliich 
greatly  honoured  visitors  were  shown,  had  of  course  a 
kind  of  Sunday  splendour,  not  dimmed  by  week-day 
familiarity.  There  hung  the  curtains ;  the  walls  were 
adorned  with  family  portraits  or  some  work  of  native 
talent ;  the  tables  alluring  the  eye  with  china,  in  guise 
of  cups,  vases,  impossible  shepherds  and  very  allegor- 
ical dogs.  Into  this  room  the  honoured  visitor  was 
ushered ;  and  there,  no  matter  what  the  hour,  refresh- 
ment of  some  kind  was  handed.  This  custom  —  a 
compound  product  of  hospitality  and  bad  inns  — 
lingered  until  lately  in  England,  and  perhaps  is  still 
not  unknown  in  provincial  towns. 

On  eating  and  drinking  was  spent  the  surplus  now 
devoted  to  finery.  No  one  then,  except  gentlemen  of 
the  first  water,  boasted  of  a  gold  snuff-box  ;  even  a  gold- 
headed  cane  was  an  unusual  elegance.  The  dandy  con- 
tented himself  wdth  a  silver  watch.  The  fine  lady 
blazoned  herself  with  a  gold  watch  and  heavy  chain ; 
but  it  was  an  heirloom  !  To  see  a  modern  dinner  ser- 
vice ghttering  with  silver,  glass,  and  china,  and  to 
think  that  even  the  nobility  in  those  days  ate  off  pew- 
ter, is  enough  to  make  the  lapse  of  time  very  vivid  to 
us.  A  silver  teapot  and  tea-tray  were  held  as  princely 
magnificence. 

The  manners  were  rough  and  simple.  The  journey- 
men ate  at  the  same  table  with  their  masters,  and 
joined    in   the    coarse    jokes   which   then   passed   for 


284  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

hilarity.  Filial  obedience  was  rigidly  enforced ;  the 
stick  or  strap  not  unfrequently  aiding  parental  author- 
ity. Even  the  brothers  exercised  an  almost  paternal 
authority  over  their  sisters.  Indeed,  the  position  of 
women  was  by  no  means  such  as  our  women  can  hear 
of  with  patience ;  not  only  were  they  kept  under  the 
paternal,  marital,  and  fraternal  yoke,  but  society  hm- 
ited  their  actions  by  its  prejudices  still  more  than  it 
does  now.  No  woman  of  the  better  class  of  citizens 
could  go  out  alone ;  the  servant  girl  followed  her  to 
church,  to  a  shop,  or  even  to  the  promenade. 

The  coarseness  of  language  may  be  imagined  from 
our  own  literature  of  that  period.  The  roughness  of 
manners  is  shown  by  such  a  scene  as  that  in  "  Wil- 
helm  Meister,"  where  the  Schone  Seek  in  her  confes- 
sions (speaking  of  high,  well-born  society)  narrates 
how,  at  an  evening  party,  forfeits  were  introduced ; 
one  of  these  forfeits  is,  that  a  gentleman  shall  say 
something  gallant  to  every  lady  present ;  he  whispers 
in  the  ear  of  a  lady,  who  boxes  his  ear,  and  boxes  it 
with  such  violence  that  the  powder  from  his  hair  flies 
into  a  lady's  eyes ;  when  she  is  enabled  to  see  again,  it 
is  to  see  that  her  husband  has  drawn  his  sword,  and 
stabbed  the  offender,  and  that  a  duel,  in  the  very  pres- 
ence of  these  women,  is  only  prevented  by  one  of  the 
combatants  being  dragged  from  the  room. 

The  foregoing  survey  would  be  incomplete  without 
some  notice  of  the  prices  of  things  ;  the  more  so  as  we 
shall  learn  hereafter  that  the  pension  Karl  August  gave 
Schiller  was  two  hundred  thalers  —  about  £30  of  our 
money ;  that  the  salary  of  Seckendorf  as  Kaoyimerherr 
was  only  six  hundred  thalers,  or  about  ,£100;  and 
that  the  salary  Goethe  received,  as  Councillor  of  Lega- 
tion, was  only  twelve  hundred  thalers,  about  X200  per 
annum.  It  is  necessary  I  should  indicate  something 
like  the  real  relation  of  these  sums  to  the  expense  of 
living.     We   find,   in    Schiller's   correspondence    with 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  285 

Kcirner,  that  he  hires  a  riding-horse  for  sixpence  a  day 
(vol.  i.  p.  84),  and  gets  a  manuscript  fairly  copied  at 
the  rate  of  three  halfpence  a  sheet  of  sixteen  pages 
(vol.  i.  p.  92)  —  with  us  the  charge  is  twopence  for 
every  seventy-two  words  ;  the  whole  of  "  Don  Carlos  " 
cost  but  three  and  sixpence  for  copying.  He  hires  a 
furnished  apartment,  consisting  of  two  rooms  and  a  bed- 
room, for  two  pounds  twelve  and  sixpence  a  quarter 
(Charlotte  von  Kalb  writing  to  Jean  Paul,  November, 
1776,  says  his  lodgings  will  only  cost  him  ten  dollars, 
or  thirty  shillings,  a  quarter) ;  while  his  male  servant, 
who  in  case  of  need  can  act  as  secretary,  is  to  be  had 
for  eighteen  shillings  a  quarter  (vol.  i.  p.  111).  Eeck- 
oning  up  his  expenses  he  says,  "  Washing,  servants,  the 
barber,  and  such  things,  all  paid  quarterly,  and  none 
exceeding  six  shillings ;  so  that,  speaking  in  round 
numbers,  I  shall  hardly  need  more  than  four  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars"  (vol.  ii.  p.  94)— that  is,  about  £70 
a  year.  Even  when  he  is  married,  and  sees  a  family 
growing  round  him,  he  says,  "  With  eight  hundred  dol- 
lars I  can  live  here,  in  Jena,  charmingly  —  recht  artig  " 
(vol.  ii.  p.  153). 

It  is  evident  that  in  Weimar  they  led  no  very 
sumptuous  hfe.  A  small  provincial  town  overshad- 
owed by  a  court,  its  modes  of  hfe  were  the  expression 
of  this  contrast.  The  people,  a  slow,  heavy,  ungraceful, 
ignorant,  but  good-natured,  happy,  honest  race,  feeding 
on  black  bread  and  sausages ;  rising  higher,  there  were 
the  cultivated  classes  of  employes,  artists,  and  profes- 
sors ;  and  higher  still,  the  aristocracy.  In  the  theatre, 
until  1825,  the  nobility  alone  were  allowed  admission 
to  the  boxes,  and  when  the  Jena  students  crowded  the 
pit,  elbowing  out  the  Weimar  public,  that  public  was 
forced  to  return  home,  or  jostle  with  the  students  for 
seats  in  pit  and  gallery.  Even  when  the  theatre  was 
rebuilt,  and  the  bourgeoisie  was  permitted  a  place  in 
the  boxes,  its  place  was  on  the  left  side  of  the  house. 


286  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

the  right  being  rigorously  reserved  for  the  Vons.  This 
continued  until  1848  ;  since  that  year  of  revolutions 
the  public  has  had  the  place  it  can  pay  for. 

It  is  quite  true  the  Weimar  court  but  little  corre- 
sponded with  those  conceptions  of  grandeur,  magnifi- 
cence, and  historical  or  political  importance,  with  which 
the  name  of  court  is  usually  associated.  But  just  as  in 
gambling  the  feelings  are  agitated  less  by  the  greatness 
of  the  stake  than  by  the  variations  of  fortune,  so  in  the 
social  gambling  of  court  intrigue,  there  is  the  same  ambi- 
tion and  agitation,  whether  the  green  cloth  be  an  empire 
or  a  duchy.  Within  its  limits  Saxe  Weimar  displayed 
all  that  an  imperial  court  displays  in  larger  propor- 
tions :  it  had  its  ministers,  its  army,  its  chamberlains, 
pages,  and  sycophants.  Court  favour,  and  disgrace, 
elevated  and  depressed,  as  if  they  had  been  imperial 
smiles,  or  autocratic  frowns.  A  standing  army  of  six 
hundred  men,  with  cavalry  of  fifty  hussars,  had  its  War 
Department,  with  war  minister,  secretary,  and  clerk.^ 

As  the  nobles  formed  the  predominating  element  of 
Weimar,  we  see  at  once  how,  in  spite  of  the  influence 
of  Karl  August,  and  the  remarkable  men  he  assembled 
round  him,  no  real  public  for  Art  could  be  found  there. 
Some  of  the  courtiers  played  more  or  less  with  Art ; 
some  had  real  feeling  for  it;  but  the  majority  set 
decided  faces  against  all  the  bemix  esprits.  When  the 
Duchess  Amalia  travelled  with  Merck  in  1778,  Weimar 
was  loud  in  anticipatory  grumblings :  "  She  will  doubt- 
less bring  back  some  hel  esprit  picked  up  en  route  ! " 
was  the  common  cry.  And  really  when  we  have 
learned,  as  we  shall  learn  in  a  future  chapter,  the 
habits  of  these  beaux  cspints,  and  their  way  of  making 
life  "  genial,"  impartiality  will  force  us  to  confess  that 

1  Lest  this  should  appear  too  ridiciUous,  I  will  add  that  one  of 
the  small  German  princes  (the  Graf  von  Limburg  Styrum)  kept 
a  corps  of  hussars,  which  consisted  of  a  colonel,  six  officers,  and 
two  privates  ! 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  287 

this  imperfect  synipatliy  on  the  part  of  the  Vons  was 
not  without  its  reason. 

Not  without  profound  significance  is  this  fact  that  in 
Weimar  the  poet  found  a  Circle,  but  no  Public.  To 
welcome  his  productions  there  were  friends  and  admir- 
ers ;  there  was  no  Nation.  Germany  had  no  pubhc ; 
nor  has  it  to  this  day  (1854).  It  was,  and  is,  a  collec- 
tion of  cities,  not  a  Nation.  To  appreciate  by  contrast 
the  full  significance  of  such  a  condition  we  must  look 
at  Greece  and  Rome.  There  the  history  of  Art  tells 
the  same  story  as  is  everywhere  told  by  the  history  of 
human  effort.  It  tells  us  that  to  reach  the  height 
of  perfection  there  must  be  the  cooperation  of  the 
Nation  with  individual  Genius.  Thus  also  it  is  neces- 
sary for  the  development  of  science  that  science  should 
cease  to  be  the  speculation  of  a  few,  and  become  the 
minister  of  the  many ;  from  the  constant  pressure  of 
unsatisfied  wants,  science  receives  its  energetic  stimu- 
lus ;  and  its  highest  reward  is  the  satisfaction  of  those 
wants.  In  Art  the  same  law  holds.  The  whole  Athe- 
nian Nation  cooperated  with  its  artists ;  and  this  is  one 
cause  why  Athenian  Art  rose  into  unsurpassed  splen- 
dour. Art  was  not  the  occupation  of  a  few,  minister- 
ing to  the  luxury  of  a  few ;  it  was  the  luxury  of  all. 
Its  triumphs  were  not  hidden  in  galleries  and  museums  ; 
they  blazed  in  the  noonday  sun ;  they  were  admired 
and  criticised  by  the  whole  people ;  and,  as  Aristotle 
expressly  says,  every  free  citizen  was  from  youth  up- 
wards a  critic  of  Art.  Sophocles  wrote  for  all  Athens, 
and  by  all  Athens  was  applauded.  The  theatre  was 
open  to  all  free  citizens.  Phidias  and  Praxiteles,  Scopas 
and  Myron,  wrought  their  marvels  in  brass  and  marble, 
as  expressions  of  a  national  faith,  and  the  delights  of 
a  national  mind.  Temples  and  market-places,  public 
groves  and  public  walks,  were  the  galleries  wherein 
these  sculptors  placed  their  works.  The  public  treas- 
ury was  liberal  in  its  rewards ;  and  the  rivalry  of  pri- 


288  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

vate  munificence  was  not  displayed  to  secure  works  for 
private  galleries,  but  to  enrich  the  public  possessions.  In 
this  spirit  the  citizens  of  Gnidos  chose  to  continue  the 
payment  of  an  onerous  tribute  rather  than  suffer  their 
statue  of  Venus  to  quit  their  city.  And  when  some 
murmurs  rose  against  the  expense  which  Pericles  was 
incurring  in  the  building  of  the  Parthenon,  he  silenced 
those  murmurs  by  the  threat  of  furnishing  the  money 
from  his  private  purse,  and  then  placing  his  name  on 
the  majestic  work. 

Stahr,  who  has  eloquently  described  the  effects  of 
such  national  cooperation  in  Art,  compares  the  similar 
influence  of  publicity  during  the  Middle  Ages,  when 
the  great  painters  and  sculptors  placed  their  works  in 
cathedrals,  open  all  day  long,  —  in  council-houses  and 
market-places,  whither  the  people  thronged,  —  with  the 
fact  that  in  our  day  Art  finds  refuge  in  the  galleries  of 
private  persons,  or  in  museums  closed  on  Sundays  and 
holidays.^ 

Nor  is  this  all.  The  effect  of  Art  upon  the  Nation 
is  visible  in  the  strildng  fact  that  in  Greece  and  Kome 
the  truly  great  men  were  crowned  by  the  public,  not 
neglected  for  any  artist  who  pandered  to  the  fashion 
and  the  tastes  of  the  few,  or  who  flattered  the  first 
impressions  of  the  many.  It  was  young  Phidias  whom 
the  Athenians  chose  to  carve  the  statue  of  Pallas 
Athene,  and  to  build  the  Parthenon.  Suppose  Phidias 
had  been  an  Enghshman,  —  would  he  have  been  se- 
lected by  government  to  give  the  nation  a  statue  of 
Wellington,  or  to  build  the  Houses  of  Parliament  ? 
The  names  most  reverenced  by  contemporaries  in 
Greece,  and  in  Italy,  are  the  names  which  posterity 
has  declared  to  be  the  higliest.  Necessarily  so.  The 
verdict  of  the  public,  when  that  public  includes  tlie 
whole  intelligence  of  the  nation,  must  be  the  correct 
verdict  in  Art. 

1  See  his  "Torso,"  pp.  147-151. 


CHArTER   II. 

THE    NOTABILITIES    OF   WEIMAR. 

The  Dowager  Duchess  Amalia  —  Mile.  Gdchhausen  —  Wieland  — 
Einsiedel  —  Coroua  Schroter  —  Bertuch  —  M  usee  us  —  Secken- 
dorf  —  The  Duchess  Luise  —  Karl  August  —  Grafin  Werther  — 
Frau  vou  Stein  —  Knebel  —  Herder. 

Having  endeavoured  to  reconstruct  some  image  of 
Weimar  and  its  people,  we  may  now  descend  from  gen- 
erals to  particulars,  and  sketch  rapidly  the  principal 
figures  which  will  move  across  that  scene,  during  the 
first  year  of  Goethe's  residence. 

The  Dowager  Duchess  Amalia  is  a  very  interesting 
figure.  She  had  the  Brunswick  blood,  with  its  capri- 
ciousness,  love  of  pleasure,  and  frivohty ;  but  she  had 
also  a  mind  well  cultivated,  not  poorly  gifted,  and  ready 
in  appreciating  men  of  talent.  Although  a  niece  of 
Frederick  the  Great,  she  did  not  follow  the  princely 
fashion  of  the  day,  and  turn  her  eyes  away  from  Ger- 
man Literature  to  fix  them  only  upon  France.  She 
chose  Wieland  as  the  tutor  of  her  son,  and  made  him 
her  own  dear  friend.  Schiller,  a  rash  judge  of  persons, 
and  not  very  keen  in  his  perception  of  woman's  char- 
acter, wrote  to  Korner,  after  his  first  interview  with 
the  duchess :  "  She  has  made  no  conquest  of  me.  I 
cannot  like  her  physiognomy.  Her  intellect  is  ex- 
tremely limited,  nothing  interests  her  but  what  is  based 
on  the  sensuous :  hence  the  taste  she  has,  or  affects  to 
have,  for  nuisic,  painting,  and  the  rest.  She  is  a  com- 
poser herself,  and  has  set  Goethe's  '  Erwin  and  Elmire ' 

289 


290  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

to  music.  She  speaks  little  ;  but  has,  at  any  rate,  the 
merit  of  throwing  aside  all  the  stiffness  of  ceremony." 
Schiller's  verdict  cannot  be  accepted  by  any  one  who 
reflects  that  besides  her  appreciation  of  men  of  talent, 
who  found  delight  in  her  society,  she  learned  Greek 
from  Wieland,  read  Aristophanes,  and  translated  Pro- 
pertius,  was  a  musical  composer,  a  tolerable  judge  of 
art,  discussed  politics  with  the  Abb^  Eaynal  and  Greek 
and  Italian  Literature  with  Villoison ;  that  moreover, 
with  all  her  multifarious  reading  and  enjoyments,  she 
contrived  to  superintend  the  education  of  her  sons,  and 
manage  her  kingdom  with  unusual  success.  This  is 
not  to  be  done  by  an  "  extremely  limited  intellect." 

The  "  sensuous  basis "  alluded  to  by  Schiller  was 
certainly  there.  One  sees  it  in  her  portraits.  One  sees 
it  also  in  the  glimpses  of  her  joyous,  pleasure-loving 
existence.  Biographers  and  eulogists  omit  such  de- 
tails ;  for  in  general  the  biographical  mind  moves  only 
through  periods  of  rhetoric,  which  may  be  apphed  with 
equal  felicity  to  every  prince  or  princess  of  whom  it  is 
the  cue  to  speak.  But  it  is  by  such  details  that  the 
image  of  the  duchess  can  alone  be  made  a  living  one. 
Here,  for  example,  is  a  sketch  of  her,  given  by  an 
anonymous  traveller :  ^  "  She  is  small  in  stature, 
good-looking,  with  a  very  spirituelle  physiognomy ;  she 
has  the  Brunswick  nose,  lovely  hands  and  feet,  a  light 
yet  princely  gait,  speaks  well  but  rapidly,  and  has  some- 
thing amiable  and  fascinating  in  her  nature.  .  .  .  This 
evening  there  was  a  Eedoute,  tickets  one  gulden  (two 
francs)  each.  The  court  arrived  at  eight.  The  duchess 
was  magnificent,  en  domino,  and  brilliant  with  jewels. 
She  dances  well,  lightly,  and  gi-acefully.  The  young 
princes,  who  were  attired  as  Zephyr  and  Amour,  also 
danced  well.  The  masquerade  was  very  full,  lively, 
and  varied.     A  faro  table  was  laid  out :  the  smallest 

1  Quoted  from  Bernouilli  by  Vehse:  "  Geschichte  der  Deutschen 
Hofe,"  vol.  xxviii.  p.  60. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  291 

stake  being  half  a  gulden.  The  duchess  staked  dollars 
and  half-louis,  played  generously  and  lost.  But  as  she 
was  glad  to  dance,  she  did  not  play  long.  She  danced 
with  every  mask  who  invited  her,  and  stayed  till 
nearly  three  o'clock,  when  almost  every  one  had  gone 
home."  The  same  writer  also  speaks  of  another  Ke- 
doute  :  "  The  duchess  appeared  en  reine  grecqiie,  a  very 
beautiful  costume,  which  suited  her  well.  The  ball 
was  very  brilliant;  some  students  from  Jena  were 
there.  At  the  last  ball  of  the  season,  the  duchess  sent 
me  one  of  her  own  Savoyard  dresses,  and  I  was  frisS 
and  dressed  like  a  woman  by  the  Countess  von  Gortz's 
maid.  The  young  count  was  likewise  dressed  as  a 
woman,  and  we  went  to  court  so,  dined  there,  and 
drove  thence  to  the  ball,  which  lasted  till  six  o'clock." 

This  pleasure-loving  duchess,  who  knew  so  well  how 
to  manage  her  kingdom,  cared  Httle  for  the  dignities  of 
her  state.  According  to  Wieland,  she  lived  sometimes 
in  student  fashion,  especially  at  Belvedere,  where  stu- 
dent-songs, not  always  the  most  decorous,  rang  joyously 
through  the  moonlit  gardens.  Driving  once  with  seven 
friends  in  a  hay-cart  from  Tiefurt,  and  overtaken  by 
a  storm,  she  made  no  more  ado  but  drew  over  her 
light  clothing  Wieland's  greatcoat,  and  in  that  costume 
drove  on. 

Her  letters,  especially  those  to  Goethe's  mother, 
several  of  which  I  have  seen,  have  great  heartiness, 
and  the  most  complete  absence  of  anything  hke  for- 
mality. In  one  of  them,  I  remember,  she  apologises  for 
not  having  written  for  some  time,  not  from  want  of 
friendship,  but  lack  of  news  :  to  show  that  she  has  been 
thinking  of  Frau  AJa,  she  sends  her  a  pair  of  garters 
worked  by  herself.  "  Liebe  Frau  Aja  !  "  she  writes  on 
another  occasion,  "  my  joy  at  the  receipt  of  your  letter 
is  not  easily  described,  nor  will  I  attempt  it,  for  true 
feelings  are  too  sacred  to  be  set  down  in  black  and 
white.     You  know,  dear  mother,  what  you  are  to  me, 


292  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

and  can  believe  how  infinitely  your  remembrance  of 
me  has  rejoiced  me."  ^ 

Beside  the  figure  of  the  Duchess  Amalia,  we  see 
that  of  the  merry  little  humpbacked  Gochhausen,  her 
maid  of  honour,  by  intimates  named  TJmsnedla.  One 
sees  not  why  this  sprightly  demon  de  honne  co7npagnie 
should  have  been  named  after  the  wife  of  Arminius, 
She  was  a  great  favourite  with  Amaha,  with  Karl 
August  also,  who  was  constantly  engaged  in  "  wit 
combats"  with  her,  not  always  of  the  mildest.  She 
animated  society  with  her  devices,  and  kept  up  a  volu- 
minous correspondence  with  wits  and  notabilities  in 
other  cities.  She  was  very  fond  of  Goethe,  and  wrote 
constantly  to  his  mother.  But  Karl  August  was  her 
darling ;  perhaps  because  he  plagued  her  so  incessantly. 
As  a  sample  of  the  lengths  to  which  tricks  were  carried, 
consider  the  following  anecdote,  which  I  have  from 
Frau  von  Goethe,  who  had  it  from  her  father-in-law, 
an  accomplice  in  the  deed.  One  night  as  Tlmsnclda 
came  up  the  stairs  leading  to  her  bedroom,  her  candle 
was  blown  out.  Not  much  heeding  this,  she  went  on, 
reached  the  gallery  into  which  her  bedroom  opened, 
and  walked  on,  feeling  for  the  door.  There  is  no  great 
difficulty  in  finding  the  door  of  your  own  room  in  the 
dark,  yet  Thusnelda  groped,  and  groped,  and  groped  in 
vain  :  no  lock  met  her  hand,  a  smooth  blank  wall 
allowed  her  hand  to  pass  and  repass  over  it  with  in- 
creasing confusion.  Where  was  the  door  ?  "V\niere 
was  she  ?  After  groping  some  time,  her  perplex- 
ity growing  into  undefined  alarm,  she  descended  to 
the  duchess's  room  ;  but  she  found  that  closed ;  the 
duchess  was  asleep  ;  and  her  gentle  kuockings  were 

1  Here  is  another  extract,  which  I  leave  in  the  original  :  "  Ach 
Mutter,  Mutter!  —  Sie  errathen  wohl  meine  Gedanken  !  was 
niaclit  der  alte  Vater  ?  er  sollte  ja  nicht  wohl  seyn.  Griissen  sie 
ilin  von  niir,  und  das  tausendmal.  Lebeu  Sie  wohl,  beste  Mutter  ; 
bchalten  Sie  niir  lieb  und  denken  tieissig  an  ihre  Freuudiu. 
Amalia.'"' 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  293 

not  answered.  Up-stairs  she  went  again,  again  to 
pass  her  hands  along  the  wall,  but  still  to  find  no  door. 
The  night  was  cold  and  she  was  half-frozen  with  cold 
and  fear  before  the  mystery  was  explained  ;  the  duke 
and  Goethe  had  removed  her  door,  and  built  up  the 
wall  in  its  place. 

Wieland  had  established  his  paper,  the  Tcutsche 
Mercur,  which  was  not  without  its  influence.  When 
he  ceased  to  be  the  prince's  tutor,  he  remained  the 
valued  friend  of  the  duchess.  He  was  in  all  the  pleas- 
ure parties.  So  also  was  Einsiedel,  who,  at  first  court 
page,  became  chamberlain  to  the  Duchess  Amalia  in 
1776.  A  io\'ial,  careless  epicurean;  everywhere 
known  as  rami,  from  his  good  nature  and  eccentricity ; 
filling  the  mouth  of  gossip  with  his  extravagances ; 
poet  and  musician  in  a  small  way ;  actor  and  inventor 
of  amusements,  his  name  meets  us  on  every  page  of 
the  Weimar  chronicles. 

Einsiedel  makes  us  think  of  Corona  Schroter,  the 
Hofsiingerin  (singer  to  the  court  —  we  have  no  such 
word,  because  we  have  no  such  thing).  Goethe  had 
known  this  beautiful  and  accomphshed  creature  while 
he  was  a  student  at  Leipsic,  and  when,  shortly  after 
his  arrival  at  Weimar,  he  made  an  expedition  to 
Leipsic  with  the  duke,  he  saw  her  there  again,  and 
induced  her  to  come  to  Weimar.  She  was  the  grace  of 
their  private  theatricals,  and  the  original  personator 
of  Iphigenia. 

"  Als  eine  Bhime  zeigt  sie  sich  der  Welt," 

says  Goethe  of  her,  in  that  passage  wherein  he  has 
immortalised  her  and  Mieding.^  What  a  descrip- 
tion ! 

"  She,  like  a  flower,  opens  to  the  world." 
1  See  the  poem  "  Mieding  Tod." 


294  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Corona  painted,  sang,  played,  was   learned  in    music, 
and  declaimed  with  peculiar  elegance, — 

"  The  Muses  lavished  on  her  every  art.' ' 

According  to  Karl  August,  she  was  "  marble-beautiful, 
but  marble-cold  ;  "  Goethe  says  of  her  : 

"  Und  hoch  erstaunt,  seht  Ihr  in  ihr  vereint 
Ein  Ideal,  das  Kiinstlern  nur  erscheint."  ^ 

There  is  a  notion  current,  originating  with  Eiemer,  but 
shown  by  Scholl  to  be  very  improbable,  that  Goethe 
had  a  liaison  with  Corona.  I  not  only  agree  with 
SchoU's  reasoning,  but  can  corroborate  it  by  the  testi- 
mony of  the  Frau  von  Goethe,  who  assured  me  her 
father-in-law  expressly  and  emphatically  told  her  that 
he  never  had  a  passion  for  any  actress.  Varuhagen 
von  Ense  suspects  that  Corona  was  privately  married 
to  Einsiedel ;  if  not,  her  letters,  still  extant  although 
inedited,  prove  that  they  were  on  the  footing  of  lovers. 
Another  chamberlain,  poet,  and  musician  was 
Seckendorf,  who  translated  "  Werther  "  into  French,  a 
year  after  Goethe's  arrival  ("  Les  Souffrances  du  Jeune 
Werther."  Par  le  B.  S.  d.  S.  Erlangen,  1776);  and  to 
these  gay  companions  must  be  added  Bode,  the  trans- 
lator of  Smollett ;  Bertuch,  the  treasurer  and  the 
translator  of  Cervantes  (whose  desire  for  reputation 
was  greater  than  his  industry,  since  he  induced  Batsch 
to  write  a  "  Natural  History  "  in  his  name,  and  had  to 
pay  a  large  sum  for  the  expenses,  without  purchasing 
anything  better  than  the  disrespect  attendant  on  a 
failure) ;  and  Mus?eus,  a  passionate  lover  of  gardening, 
who  gave  Weimar  its  pleasant  Erohlung,  and  who  might 
have  been  seen  daily  crossing  the  quiet  streets  with  a 
cup  of  coffee  in  one  hand,  his  garden  tools  in  the  other, 

1  And  gently  awed,  you  feel  in  her  combmed 
What  is  Ideal  in  the  artist's  miud. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  295 

trudging  along  to  that  loved  retreat.  At  other  times 
he  might  be  seen  plying  the  ex-drummer,  Riippler, 
with  inspiring  Schnajjps  to  unlock  the  casket  of  his 
memory,  wherein  were  stored  the  legends  and  super- 
stitions of  the  peasantry  which  Musanis  afterward 
dressed  up  in  his  own  style  in  his  celebrated  Volks- 
miirchen.  There  was  much  Inimour  in  Musaius ;  he 
furnished  his  Weimar  friends  with  many  a  pleasant 
quip  and  crank.  Heinrich  Schmidt  tells  the  following. 
One  day  Musteus,  after  a  long  illness,  came  to  dine  vath. 
the  Schmidts.  Every  one  was  amazed  at  his  healthy 
aspect.  He  received  their  reiterated  compliments  with 
perfect  gravity,  till  his  wife,  unable  longer  to  contain 
herself,  confessed  that  before  setting  out  he  had  rouged 
his  cheeks !  ^ 

These  are  the  principal  figures  of  Amalia's  court. 
We  may  now  glance  at  the  court  of  the  reigning  duke 
and  duchess  —  Karl  August  and  Luise. 

Of  the  Duchess  Luise  no  one  ever  speaks  but  in 
terms  of  veneration.  She  was  one  of  those  rare  beings 
who,  through  circumstances  the  most  trying,  as  well 
as  through  the  ordinary  details  of  hfe,  manifest  a  noUe 
character.  The  Queen  of  Prussia  and  the  Duchess  of 
Saxe-Weimar  are  two  of  the  great  figures  in  modern 
German  history  ;  they  both  opposed  the  chief  man  of 
the  age,  Napoleon,  and  were  both  admired  by  him  for 
that  very  opposition.  Luise  was  of  a  cold  tempera- 
ment, somewhat  rigid  in  her  enforcement  of  etiquette 
(unlike  the  dowager),  and  wore  to  the  last  the  old 
costume  which  had  been  the  fashion  in  her  youth; 
apt  in  the  early  years  of  her  marriage  to  be  a  httle 
querulous  with  her  husband,  but  showing  throughout 
their  lives  a  real  and  noble  friendship  for  him. 

And  he  was  worthy  of  that  friendship,  much  as  his 
strange,  and  in   many   respects  opposite  nature,  may 

1  Schmidt;  "  Erinnerungen  eines  weimarischen  Veteranen," 
p.  21. 


296  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

have  tried  her.  Karl  August,  whom  Frederick  the 
Great  pronounced,  at  fourteen,  to  he  the  prince,  of  all 
he  had  seen,  who  gave  the  greatest  promise,  was  in 
truth  a  very  mixed,  but  very  admirable,  character. 
He  can  afford  to  be  looked  at  more  closely  and 
familiarly  than  most  princes.  He  was  a  man  whose 
keen  appreciation  of  genius  not  only  drew  the  most 
notable  men  of  the  day  to  Weimar,  but  whose  own 
intrinsically  fine  qualities  kept  them  there.  It  is  easy 
for  a  prince  to  assemble  men  of  talent.  It  is  not 
easy  for  a  prince  to  make  them  remain  beside  him,  in 
the  full  employment  of  their  faculties,  and  in  reason- 
able enjoyment  of  their  position.  Karl  August  was 
the  prince  who  with  the  smallest  means  produced  the 
greatest  result  in  Germany,  He  w^as  a  man  of  rest- 
less activity.  His  eye  was  on  every  part  of  his 
dominions ;  his  endeavours  to  improve  the  condition 
of  the  people  were  constant.  The  recently  published 
correspondence  shows  how  active  were  his  intellectual 
sympathies.  In  his  tastes  no  man  in  Germany  was  so 
simple,  except  his  dearest  friend,  Goethe,  with  whom, 
indeed,  he  had  many  cardinal  points  in  common.  I 
remember,  on  first  seeing  their  busts  together,  being 
struck  with  a  sort  of  faint  family  resemblance  between 
them.  Karl  August  might  have  been  a  younger 
brother,  considerably  "  animalised,"  but  still  belonging 
to  the  family.  They  had  both,  on  the  paternal  side, 
Thuringian  blood  in  their  veins ;  and  in  many  respects 
Amaha  and  Frau  Aja  were  akin.  But  while  Karl 
August  had  the  active,  healthy,  sensuous,  pleasure- 
loving  temperament  of  his  friend,  he  wanted  the  tact 
which  never  allowed  Goethe,  except  in  his  wildest 
period,  to  overstep  limits ;  he  wanted  the  tenderness 
and  cliivalry  which  made  the  poet  so  uniformly  accept- 
able to  women.  He  was  witty,  but  his  tons  mots  were 
mostly  of  that  kind  which,  repeated  after  dinner,  are 
not  considered  fit  for  drawing-room  publication.     Very 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  297 

characteristic  is  it  of  him,  who  had  bestowed  unusual 
pains  in  collecting  a  Bibliotheca  Erotica,  that  when 
Scliiller  wrote  the  "Maid  of  Orleans,"  he  fancied 
Schiller  was  going  to  give  another  version  of  "  La 
Pucelle,"  and  abetted  his  mistress,  the  Frau  von 
Heygendorf,  in  her  refusal  to  play  the  part  of  the 
rehabihtated  maiden.  He  was  rough,  soldierly,  brusque, 
and  imperious.  He  was  at  home  when  in  garrison 
with  Prussian  soldiers,  but  out  of  his  element  when 
at  foreign  courts,  and  not  always  at  ease  in  his  own. 
Goethe  describes  him  longing  for  his  pipe  at  the 
Court  of  Brunswick  in  1774 :  "  De  son  cot^  notre  bon 
Due  s'ennuie  terrible meut,  il  cherche  un  interet,  il 
n'y  voudrait  pas  etre  pour  rien,  la  marche  trds  bien 
mesuree  de  tout  ce  qu'on  fait  ici  le  gene,  il  faut  qu'il 
renonce  a  sa  chere  pipe  et  une  fee  ne  pourroit  lui 
rendre  un  service  plus  agreeable  qu'en  changeant  ce 
palais  dans  une  cabane  de  charbonnier."  ^ 

In  a  letter  (unprinted),  he  writes  to  Goethe,  then  at 
Jena,  saying  he  longs  to  be  with  him  to  watch  sunrise 
and  sunset,  for  he  can't  see  the  sunset  in  Gotha,  hidden 
as  it  is  by  the  crowd  of  courtiers,  who  are  so  commc  il 
faut,  and  know  their  "  fish  duty  "  with  such  terrible 
accuracy,  that  every  evening  he  feels  inchned  to  give 
himself  to  the  devil.  His  deliglit,  when  not  with 
soldiers,  was  to  be  with  dogs,  or  with  his  poet  alone 
in  their  simple  houses,  discussing  philosophy,  and 
"  talking  of  lovely  things  that  conquer  death."  He 
mingled  freely  with  the  people.  At  Ilmenau  he  and 
Goethe  put  on  the  miners'  dress,  descended  into  the 
mines,  and  danced  all  night  with  peasant  girls.  Eiding 
across  country,  over  rock  and  stream,  in  manifest  peril 
of  his  neck ;  teazing  the  maids  of  honour,  sometimes 
carrying  this  so  far  as  to  offend  his   more   princely 

i"Briefe  an  Frau  von  Stein,"  iii.  p.  85.  The  French  is 
Goetlie's,  as  also  the  spelling  and  accentuation,  or  rather  want  of 
accentuation. 


298  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

wife ;  wandering  alone  with  his  dogs,  or  with  some 
joyous  companion ;  seeking  excitement  in  wine,  and 
in  making  love  to  pretty  women,  without  much  respect 
of  station ;  offending  by  his  roughness  and  wilfulness, 
though  never  estranging  his  friends  —  Karl  August, 
often  grieving  his  admirers,  was,  with  all  his  errors,  a 
genuine  and  admirable  character.  His  intellect  was 
active,  his  judgment,  both  of  men  and  things,  sound 
and  keen.  Once,  when  there  was  a  discussion  about 
appointing  Fichte  as  professor  at  Jena,  one  of  the 
opponents  placed  a  work  of  Fichte's  in  the  duke's 
hands,  as  sufficient  proof  that  such  a  teacher  could  not 
hold  a  chair.  Karl  August  read  the  book  —  and  ap- 
pointed Fichte.  He  had  great  aims ;  he  also  had  the 
despotic  will  which  bends  circumstances  to  its  deter- 
mined issues.  "  He  was  always  in  progress,"  said 
Goethe  to  Eckermann ;  "when  anything  failed,  he 
dismissed  it  at  once  from  his  mind.  I  often  bothered 
myself  how  to  excuse  this  or  that  failure ;  but  he 
ignored  every  shortcoming  in  the  cheerfullest  way, 
and  always  went  forward  to  something  new." 

Such  was  Karl  August,  as  I  conceive  him  from  the 
letters  of  the  period,  and  from  the  reports  of  those 
who  knew  him.  Eight  years  younger  than  Goethe, 
he  attached  himself  to  him  as  to  a  brother.  We  shall 
see  this  attachment  and  its  reciprocal  influence  in  the 
following  pages ;  clouds  sometimes  gather,  quarrels  and 
dissatisfaction  are  not  absent  (from  what  long  friend- 
ship are  they  absent  ? ) ;  but  fifty  years  of  mutual 
service,  and  mutual  affection,  proved  the  genuineness 
of  both  their  characters. 

Among  the  "Weimar  notables,  Frau  von  Stein  must 
always  have  conspicuous  eminence.  In  a  future  chap- 
ter we  shall  learn  more  of  her.  Enough  for  the 
present  to  say  that  she  was  Hofdame  (lady  of  honour) 
to  the  Duchess  Amalia,  and  for  many  years  passion- 
ately loved  by  Goethe.     Beside  her  we  may  mention 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  299 

the  Countess  von  Werther,  who  was  to  Karl  August 
what  the  Baroness  von  Stein  was  to  Goethe.  She,  as 
is  well  known,  is  the  original  of  the  charming  count- 
ess in  "  Wilhelm  Meister,"  and  her  husband  was  still 
more  eccentric  than  the  eccentric  count.  It  is  related 
of  him  that  once  when  the  duke  and  some  other 
illustrious  guests  were  in  his  chateau,  he  collected 
several  of  his  peasants,  dressed  them  in  his  livery,  and 
blacked  their  faces  to  make  them  pass  as  negroes ! 

To  close  this  list  we  have  IMajor  von  Knebel,  the 
translator  of  Lucretius  and  Propertius,  an  honest, 
upright,  satirical  republican,  the  intimate  friend  of 
Karl  August  and  Goethe,  the  "philanthropic  Tinion," 
as  Herder  called  him,  severe  against  all  shams  and 
insincerities,  but  loving  the  human  nature  he  declaimed 
against.  As  one  looks  upon  his  rough,  genial,  Socratic 
head,  one  seems  to  hear  the  accents  of  an  independent, 
thoroughly  honest  nature  give  weight  to  what  he  says. 

I  have  omitted  Herder.  He  did  not  come  to  Weimar 
till  after  Goethe,  and  indeed  was  drawn  thither  by 
Goethe,  whose  admiration  for  him,  begun  at  Strasburg, 
continued  unabated.  The  strange  bitterness  and  love 
of  sarcasm  in  Herder's  nature,  which  could  not  repel 
the  young  student,  did  not  alter  the  affection  of  the 
man.  In  one  of  Goethe's  unpubhshed  letters  to  the 
Duchess  Amaha,  there  is  an  urgent  appeal  on  behalf 
of  Herder,  whose  large  family  had  to  be  supported  on 
very  straitened  means ;  the  duke  had  promised  to  pro- 
vide for  one  of  the  children,  and  Goethe  writes  to 
Amalia,  begging  her  to  do  the  same  for  another.  No 
answer  coming  to  this  appeal,  or  at  any  rate  no  prompt 
notice  being  taken,  he  writes  again  more  urgently, 
adding  that  if  she  does  not  provide  for  the  child,  lie 
(Goethe),  out  of  his  small  income,  will !  And  this 
was  at  a  time  when  Herder  was  most  bitter  against 
Goethe.  Well  might  Merck  exclaim :  "  No  one  can 
withstand  the  disinterestedness  of  this  man  ! " 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE   FIKST   WILD   WEEKS   AT   WEIMAE. 

This  was  the  circle  into  which  Goethe  entered  in  all 
the  splendour  of  youth,  beauty,  and  fame:  Youth, 
wliich,  according  to  the  fine  conception  of  the  Greeks, 
is  "  the  herald  of  Venus ; "  Beauty,  which  those 
Greeks  adored  as  the  splendour  of  Truth;  and  Fame, 
which  has  at  all  times  been  a  halo  dazzhng  to  mortal 
eyes.  Thus  equipped  for  conquest,  how  can  we  wonder 
that  he  conquered  ?  Even  Amaha,  angry  with  him  for 
having  ridiculed  her  darling  Wieland,  could  not  with- 
stand the  magic  of  his  presence.  Her  love  of  gen- 
ius left  her  no  choice.  She  was  fascinated  by  his 
wild  ways,  and  by  his  splendid  talents.  One  moment 
he  startled  her  with  a  paradox,  the  next  moment  he 
sprang  from  his  seat,  waltzing  and  whirling  round  the 
room  with  antics  which  made  her  scream  with  laugh- 
ter. And  Wieland  ?  —  he  was  conquered  at  once.  He 
shall  speak  for  himself,  in  a  letter  written  after  their 
first  interview :  "  How  perfectly  I  felt,  at  the  first 
glance,  he  was  a  man  after  my  own  heart!  How  I 
loved  the  magnificent  youth  as  I  sat  beside  him  at 
table  !  All  that  I  can  say  (after  more  than  one  crisis 
which  I  have  endured)  is  this :  since  that  morning  my 
soul  is  as  full  of  Goethe  as  a  dewdrop  of  the  morning 
sun.  ...  I  believe  the  godlike  creature  will  remain 
longer  with  us  than  he  intended  ;  and  if  Weimar  can 
do  anything,  his  presence  will  accomplish  it."  This 
is  very  honourable  to  Wieland  :  Nestor  gazes  with 
unenvious  delight  upon  the  young  Achilles.     Heroic 

300 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  301 

eyes  are  always  proud  to  recognise  heroic  propor- 
tions. 

After  Wieland  and  the  duchess,  the  rest  were  easy 
to  conquer.  "  He  rose  hke  a  star  in  the  heavens,"  says 
Knebel.  "Everybody  worshipped  him,  especially  the 
women."  In  the  costume  of  his  own  Werther,  which 
was  instantly  adopted  by  the  duke,  he  seemed  the 
ideal  of  a  poet.  To  moderns  there  are  no  very  senti- 
mental suggestions  in  a  costume  which  was  composed 
of  blue  coat  and  brass  buttons,  top-boots,  and  leather 
breeches,  the  whole  surmounted  by  powder  and  pig- 
tail ;  but  in  those  days  this  costume  was  the  suggestion 
of  everything  tender  and  romantic.  Werther  had  con- 
secrated it.i  The  duke  not  only  adopted  it,  but  made 
all  around  him  adopt  it  also,  sometimes  paying  the 
tailor's  bill  himself.  Wieland  alone  was  excepted  ;  he 
was  too  old  for  such  masqueradings. 

Thoroughly  to  appreciate  the  effect  of  Goethe's 
influence  with  women,  we  must  remember  the  state  of 
feehug  and  opinion  at  the  time.  Those  were  the  days 
of  gallantry,  the  days  of 

"  Puffs,  paints,  and  patches,  powders,  billets  doiix." 

The  laxity  of  German  morals  differed  from  the  more 
audacious  licentiousness  of  France :  it  had  sentimen- 
talism,  in  lieu  of  gaiety  and  luxuriousness,  for  its 
basis.  The  heart  of  a  French  marquise  was  lost  over 
a  supper-table  sparkling  with  champagne  and  Ions 
mots ;  the  heart  of  a  German  Grafin  yielded  more 
readily  to  moonlight,  melancholy,  and  a  copy  of  verses. 
Wit  and  audacity  were  the  batteries  for  a  French- 
woman ;  the  German  was  stormed  Nvith  sonnets,  and 
a  threat  of  suicide.  For  the  one,  Lothario  needed 
sprighthness    and    Ion   ton ;    for  the  other,  turbulent 

1  It  should  be  remembered,  that  in  Germany,  at  that  time,  hoots 
were  only  worn  in  very  bad  weather  ;  and  in  the  presence  of 
women  no  one  ever  appeared  except  in  shoes  and  silk  stockings. 


302  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

disgust  at  all  social  arrangements,  expressed  in  inter- 
jectional  rhetoric,  and  a  deportment  outrageous  to  all 
conventions.  It  is  needless  to  add  that  marriage  was 
to  a  great  extent  what  Sophie  Arnould  with  terrible 
wit  called  it,  —  "  the  sacrament  of  adultery  ; "  and  that 
on  the  subject  of  the  sexes  the  whole  tone  of  feeling 
was  low.  Poor,  simple,  earnest  Schiller,  whom  no 
one  will  accuse  of  laxity,  admired  "  Les  Liaisons  Dan- 
gereuses,"  and  saw  no  reason  why  women  should  not 
read  it ;  although  to  our  age  the  infamy  of  that  book 
is  so  great  as  to  stamp  a  brand  upon  the  society  which 
produced  and  applauded  it.  Yet  even  Schiller,  who 
admired  this  book,  was  astounded  at  the  condition  of 
women  at  Weimar.  "  There  is  hardly  one  of  them," 
he  writes  to  Korner,  "  who  has  not  had  a  liaison.  They 
are  all  coquettes.  .  .  .  One  may  very  easily  fall  into  an 
'  affair  of  the  heart,'  though  it  will  not  last  any  time." 
It  was  thought,  apparently,  that  since  Eros  had  wings, 
he  must  use  them  —  and  fly. 

With  this  tone  of  society  we  can  understand  how, 
as  Goethe  in  after-life  confessed  to  Eckermann,  the 
first  years  at  Weimar  were  "  perplexed  with  love- 
affairs."  A  great  admirer  of  women,  and  gi'eatly 
admired  by  them,  it  was  natural  he  should  fall 
into  their  snares.  Many  charmers  are  named ;  among 
them,  Fraulein  von  Kalb,  Corona  Schroter,  and  Kotze- 
bue's  sister,  Amalia:  but  I  am  bound  to  say  that, 
after  the  most  diligent  inquiry,  I  can  find  no  rehable 
evidence  for  believing  any  one  of  those  named  to  have 
been  really  loved  by  him.  We  must  content  ourselves 
with  the  fact  of  his  having  flirted  considerably :  mak- 
ing love  to  every  bright  pair  of  eyes  which  for  a 
moment  could  make  him  believe  what  he  said.  ^ 

For  the  first  few  months  he  gave  himself  up  to  the 

1  "Ich  log  und  trog  mich  bei  alien  hiibschen  Gesichtern  herum, 
und  hatte  dea  Vortheil  iuinier  ein  Augenblick  zu  glaubeu  was  ich 
sagte,"  he  says  in  a  letter  to  the  Frau  vou  Stein,  vol.  i.  p.  5. 


LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE  303 

excitement  of  this  new  life.  Among  other  things  he 
introduced  skating.  Weimar  had  hitherto  seen  no 
gentleman  on  the  ice ;  but  now,  Klopstock  having 
made  skating  famous  by  his  poetry,  Goethe  made  it 
fashionable  by  his  daring  grace.  The  duchess  soon 
excelled  in  the  art.  Skating  on  the  Schivanscc  became 
"  the  rage."  Sometimes  the  banks  were  illuminated 
with  lamps  and  torches,  and  music  and  fireworks  ani- 
mated the  scene.  The  duchess  and  ladies,  masked 
as  during  carnival,  were  driven  in  sledges  over  the 
noisy  ice.  "  We  are  somewhat  mad  here,"  Goethe 
writes  to  Merck,  "  and  play  the  devil's  own  game." 
Wieland's  favourite  epithet  for  him  was  wuthig  —  out- 
rageous, and  wuthig  he  was.  Strange  stories  are  told 
of  hira,  now  dashing  across  the  ice,  now  loosening  his 
long  hair  in  Bertuch's  room,  and,  with  locks  flowing 
over  his  shoulders,  whirling  round  in  mad  Bacchante 
waltz ;  and,  finally,  standing  in  the  Jena  market-place 
with  the  duke,  by  the  hour  together,  smacking  huge 
sledge  whips  for  a  wager.  Imagine  a  duke  and  a  poet 
thus  engaged  in  a  public  market-place ! 

His  constant  companion,  and  in  all  devilries  and 
dissipation  his  most  jovial  associate,  was  Karl  August. 
All  ceremony  was  laid  aside  between  them.  They 
dined  together,  often  shared  the  same  bedroom,  and 
called  each  other  by  the  brotherly  thou.  "  Goethe  will 
never  leave  this  place  again,"  writes  Wieland  ;  "  K.  A. 
can  no  longer  swim  or  wade  without  him.  The  court, 
or  rather  his  liaison  with  the  duke,  wastes  his  time, 
which  is  really  a  great  pity  —  and  yet  —  with  so 
magnificent  and  godlike  a  creature  nothing  is  ever 
lost ! "  Weimar  was  startled  in  its  more  respectable 
circles  by  the  conduct  of  these  two,  and  their  associ- 
ates :  conduct  quite  in  keeping  with  the  period  named 
"  the  genial."  ^     In  their  orgies  they  drank  wine  out  of 

1  It  is  difficult  to  find  an  Enp;lish  word  to  express  the  Cermau 
genial,  whicii  means  pertaining  to  genius.     The  genial  period  was 


304  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

skulls  (as  Byron  and  his  friends  did  in  their  wild  days), 
and  in  ordinary  intercourse  exliibited  but  a  very  miti- 
gated respect  for  meum  and  tuum,  borrowing  handker- 
chiefs and  waistcoats  which  were  never  returned.  The 
favourite  epithet  of  that  day  was  "  infinite  : "  Genius 
drank  infinitely,  loved  infinitely,  and  swallowed  infinite 
sausages. 

But  the  poet's  nature  soon  wearies  of  such  scenes. 
After  some  two  mouths  of  dissipation,  in  masking, 
skating,  hunting,  drinking,  and  dicing,  the  want  to  be 
once  more  among  simple  people  and  lovely  scenes 
drove  him  away  from  Weimar  to  Waldeck.  Amid 
the  crowded  tumult  of  life  he  ever  kept  his  soul 
sequestered  ;  and  from  the  hot  air  of  society  he  broke 
impatiently  away  to  the  serenity  of  solitude.  While 
on  this  journey  along  the  pine-clad  mountains,  there 
came  over  him  a  feeling  of  the  past,  in  which  the 
image  of  Lili  painfully  reappeared. 

He  was  called  back  to  Weimar  by  the  duke,  impa- 
tient of  his  absence;  and,  while  debating  in  his  own 
mind  whether  he  should  accept  a  place  there,  or  return 
to  Frankfort,  he  began  to  take  his  seat,  as  a  guest, 
in  the  Privy  Council.  He  had  tried  the  court,  and 
now  he  was  about  to  try  what  virtue  lay  in  govern- 
ment. "  I  am  here  as  if  at  home,"  so  runs  one  of 
his  letters,  "  and  the  duke  daily  becomes  dearer  to 
me."  Indeed,  his  father's  prognostications  had  failed. 
The  connection  between  his  son  and  the  duke  was  of  a 
totally  different  kind  from  that  between  Voltaire  and 
Fritz.  In  secret,  Voltaire  despised  the  verses  of  his 
patron,  as  his  patron  in  secret  despised  the  weakness  of 
Voltaire.  A  few  unguarded  expressions  were  enough 
to  snap  the  link  which  bound  them  together ;  but 
a  lifetime  only  deepened  the  regard  of  Goethe  and 
Karl  August.      Nor   must   it  be   supposed  that  their 

the  period  when  every  extravagance  was  excused  on  the  plea  of 
genius. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  305 

friendship  was  merely  that  of  boon-companions.  Both 
had  high  aims  and  strong  wills.  Prince  Hal  might 
recreate  himself  with  Falstall',  Pistol,  Bardolph,  and 
the  rest ;  but  while  chucking  Mrs.  Quickly  under  the 
chin,  he  knew  he  was  one  day  to  be  England's  lord. 
Karl  August  and  Goethe  were  not  the  men  to  lose 
themselves  in  the  fleeting  hours  of  dissipation  ;  serious, 
steady  business  was  transacted  almost  the  moment 
before  some  escapade.  In  their  retreat  at  Ilmeuau 
the  poet  writes : 

"  Mein  Carl  und  ich  vergessen  hier 
Wie  seltsam  uns  ein  tiet'es  Schicksal  leitet. 
Und  ach  I  ich  fiihl's,  im  Stillen  werden  wir 
Zu  neuen  Scenen  vorbereitet." 

"  My  Karl  and  I  here  forget  the  strange  mysterious 
Fate  which  guides  us  ;  and  I  feel  that  in  these  quiet 
moments  we  are  preparing  for  new  scenes."  Yes, 
they  learned  "  in  the  happy  present  to  forecast  the 
future." 

The  duke  knew  what  he  was  doing  when  he  over- 
stepped all  precedent,  and,  in  June,  1776,  elected 
Goethe  to  the  post  of  Geheime  Legations  Kath,  with  a  seat 
and  voice  in  the  Privy^  Council,  and  a  salary  of  twelve 
hundred  thalers.  In  writing  to  Goethe's  father,  the 
duke  intimated  that  there  was  absolute  feeedom  of  leav- 
ing the  service  at  will,  and  that,  indeed,  the  appointment 
was  a  mere  formality,  no  measure  of  his  affection. 
"  Goethe  can  have  but  one  position  —  that  of  my 
friend.     All  others  are  beneath  him." 

The  post  of  Geheime  Legations  Rath  at  Weimar  is  not 
a  very  magnificent  post ;  and  the  salary  of  twelve  hun- 
dred thalers  (about  X200)  seems  still  less  magnificent 
when  we  rememlier  that  at  that  period  the  King  of 
Prussia  gave  the  Barberini,  an  Italian  dancer,  exactly 
ten  times  the  sum.  But,  such  as  it  was,  the  appoint- 
ment created  great  noise.     Weimar  was  thunderstruck. 


3o6  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

The  favour  shown  to  Wieland  had  not  passed  without 
scandal ;  but  alarming  indeed  was  this  elevation  of  a 
Frankfort  bourgeois,  A  poet,  who  had  gone  through 
none  of  the  routine  of  business,  whose  life  was  any- 
thing but  "  respectable,"  to  be  lifted  suddenly  over  the 
plodding  heads  of  legitimate  aspirants !  If  this  was  to 
be,  what  reward  could  meritorious  mediocrity  expect  ? 
what  advantage  had  slowly  acquired  routiniary  knowl- 
edge ? 

So  murmured  scandalised  officials  and  their  friends. 
At  last  these  murmurs  expressed  themselves  distinctly 
in  the  shape  of  a  protest.  The  duke  thought  the  act 
worthy  of  a  deliberate  justification,  and  with  his  own 
hand  added  these  words  to  the  protocol  of  the  acts  of 
his  ministry  :  "  Enlightened  persons  congratulate  me  on 
possessing  such  a  man.  His  genius  and  capacity  are 
well  known.  To  employ  a  man  of  such  stamp  in  any 
other  functions  than  those  in  which  he  can  render 
available  the  extraordinary  gifts  he  possesses,  is  to 
abuse  them.  As  to  the  observation  that  persons  of 
merit  may  think  themselves  unjustly  passed  over:  I 
observe,  in  the  first  place,  that  nobody  to  my  knowl- 
edge, in  my  service,  has  a  right  to  reckon  on  an  equal 
degree  of  favour ;  and  I  add  that  I  will  never  consent 
to  be  governed  by  mere  length  of  service  or  rotation 
in  my  choice  of  a  person  whose  functions  place  him  in 
such  immediate  relation  to  myself,  and  are  so  important 
to  the  happiness  of  my  people.  In  such  a  case  I  shall 
attend  to  nothing  but  the  degree  of  confidence  I  can 
repose  in  the  person  of  my  choice.  The  public  opinion 
which  perhaps  censures  the  admission  of  Doctor  Goethe 
to  my  council  without  having  passed  through  the  pre- 
vious steps  of  Amtmann,  Professor,  Kammerrath,  or 
Regierungsrath,  produce  no  effect  on  my  own  judgment. 
The  world  forms  its  opinion  on  prejudices ;  but  I 
watch  and  work  —  as  every  man  must  who  wishes  to 
do  his  duty  —  not  to  make  a  noise,  not  to  attract  the 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  307 

applause  of  the  world,  but  to  justify  my  conduct  to 
God  and  my  conscience." 

Assuredly  we  may  echo  M.  Dumont's  sentiment, 
that  "  the  prince,  who,  at  nineteen,  wrote  those  words, 
was  no  ordinary  man."  He  had  not  ouly  the  eye  to 
see  greatness,  he  had  also  the  strong  will  to  guide  his 
conduct  according  to  his  views,  untrammelled  by  rou- 
tine and  formulas.  "  Say  what  you  will,  it  is  only  like 
can  recognise  like,  and  a  prince  of  great  capacity  will 
always  recognise  and  cherish  greatness  in  his  ser- 
vants."^ People  saw  that  the  duke  was  resolved. 
Murmurs  were  silenced ;  or  only  percolated  the  gossip 
of  private  circles,  till  other  subjects  buried  them,  as  all 
gossip  is  buried. 

The  mode  of  life  which  the  genial  company  led  was 
not  only  the  subject  of  gossip  in  Weimar,  it  grew  and 
grew  as  scandals  grow,  not  losing  substance  on  the 
way,  and  reached  the  ears  of  distant  friends.  Thus, 
only  a  month  before  the  appointment,  Klopstock  wrote 
to  Goethe  a  letter  which  scandal  extorted  from 
friendship. 

«  Hamburg,  8th  of  May,  1776. 
"  Here  is  proof  of  my  friendship,  dearest  Goethe !  It 
is  somewhat  difficult,  I  confess,  to  give  it,  but  it  must 
be  given.  Do  not  fancy  that  I  wish  to  preach  to  you 
about  your  doings ;  or  that  I  judge  harshly  of  you 
because  you  have  other  views  than  mine.  But  your 
views  and  mine  quite  set  aside,  what  will  be  the  inev- 
itable consequence  if  your  present  doings  continue  ? 
The  duke,  if  he  continues  to  drink  as  he  does,  instead 
of  strengthening,  as  he  says,  his  constitution,  will  ruin 
it,  and  will  not  hve  long.  Young  luen  of  powerful 
constitutions  —  and  that  the  duke  is  not  —  have  in 
this  way  early  perished.  The  Germans  have  hitherto, 
and  with  justice,  complained  that  their  princes  would 
1  Goethe,  in  "  Eckermaun,"  iii.  p.  232. 


3o8  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

have  nothing  to  do  with  authors.  They  now  gladly 
make  an  exception  in  favour  of  the  duke.  But  what  a 
justification  will  not  the  other  princes  have,  if  you  con- 
tinue your  present  tone  ?  If  only  that  should  happen 
which  I  feel  will  happen !  The  duchess  will  perhaps 
still  subdue  her  pain,  for  she  has  a  strong,  manly 
intellect.  But  that  pain  will  become  grief !  And  can 
that  be  so  suppressed  ?  Luise's  grief,  Goethe !  .  .  .  I 
must  add  a  word  about  Stolberg.  He  goes  to  Weimar 
out  of  friendship  for  the  duke.  He  must  also  live  well 
with  him.  But  how  ?  In  his  style  ?  No  !  unless  he, 
too,  becomes  altered,  he  will  go  away.  And  then  what 
remains  for  him  ?  Not  in  Copenhagen,  not  in  Weimar. 
I  must  write  to  Stolberg ;  what  shall  I  say  to  him  ? 
You  may  please  yourself  about  showing  this  letter  to 
the  duke.  I  have  no  objection  against  it.  On  the 
contrary ;  for  he  is  assuredly  not  yet  arrived  at  that 
point  when  he  will  not  hsten  to  the  honest  word  of  a 
friend.  Klopstock." 

Goethe's  answer,  dated  the  21st  of  May,  a  fortnight 
later,  therefore,  runs  thus  : 

"  In  future,  spare  us  such  letters,  dear  Klopstock ! 
They  do  no  good,  and  only  breed  bad  blood.  You 
must  feel  yourself  that  I  have  no  answer  to  make. 
Either  I  must,  hke  a  schoolboy,  begin  a  Pater  jpeccavi, 
or  sophistically  excuse,  or  as  an  honest  fellow  defend, 
and  perhaps  a  mingUng  of  all  these  might  express  the 
truth,  but  to  what  purpose  ?  Therefore,  not  a  word 
more  between  us  on  this  subject.  Believe  me,  I  should 
not  have  a  moment's  rest  if  I  replied  to  all  such 
admonitions.  It  pained  the  duke  a  moment  to  think 
it  was  Klopstock.  He  loves  and  honours  you ;  you 
know  I  do  the  vsame.  Good-bye.  Stolberg  must  come 
all  the  same.  We  are  no  worse ;  and  with  God's  help 
will  be  better  than  what  he  has  seen  us." 

To  this  Klopstock  indignantly  replied : 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  309 

"  You  have  much  misunderstood  the  proof  of  my 
friendship,  which  was  great,  precisely  because  of  my 
reluctance  to  mix  myself  unasked  in  the  affairs  of 
others.  And  as  you  include  all  such  letters  and  all 
such  admonitions  (your  expressions  are  as  strong  as 
that)  in  the  same  class  with  the  letter  which  contained 
this  proof  of  my  friendship,  I  hereby  declare  you 
unworthy  of  that  friendship.  Stolberg  shall  not  come, 
if  he  Ustens  to  me,  or  rather  if  he  listens  to  his  own 
conscience." 

The  breach  thus  made  was  never  repaired,  Stolberg 
did  not  come  to  Weimar;  and  Klopstock  wrote  no 
more. 

To  return :  whatever  basis  there  may  have  been  for 
the  reports  which  Gossip  magnified,  certain  it  is  that 
the  duke  did  not  forget  the  cares  of  state  in  these 
wild  orgies.  Both  he  and  his  friend  were  very  active 
and  very  serious.  If  Weimar,  according  to  the  histo- 
rian of  Germany,^  stands  as  an  illustrious  exception 
among  the  German  courts,  it  was  because  Karl  August, 
upheld  by  his  friend,  knew  how  to  carry  into  earnest 
practice  the  axiom  of  Frederick  the  Great :  "  A  king  is 
but  the  first  of  subjects."  Goethe's  beneficent  activity 
is  seen  less  in  such  anecdotes  as  those  often  cited  of 
his  opening  a  subscription  for  Burger  to  enable  him  to 
complete  his  translation  of  Homer,  and  of  his  reliev- 
ing Jung  Stilling  from  distress,  than  in  the  constant  and 
democratic  sympathy  with  which  he  directed  the  duke's 
endeavours. 

That  he  had  not  the  grave  deportment  of  a  council- 
lor is  very  evident.  Imagine  him  as  in  this  anecdote 
related  by  Gleim :  "  Soon  after  Goethe  had  written 
'Werther'  I  came  to  Weimar,  and  wished  to  know 
him.  I  had  brought  with  me  the  last  '  Musen  Alma- 
nach,'  a  literary  novelty,  and  read  here  and  there  a 
poem  to  the  company  in  which  I  passed  the  evening. 

1  Menzel,  ccxli. 


3IO  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

While  I  was  reading,  a  young  man,  booted  and  spurred, 
in  a  short  green  shooting-jacket  thrown  open,  came 
in  and  mingled  with  the  audience.  I  had  scarcely 
remarked  his  entrance.  He  sat  down  opposite  to  me 
and  listened  attentively.  I  scarcely  knew  what  there 
was  about  him  that  particularly  struck  me,  except  a 
pair  of  brilliant  black  Italian  eyes.  But  it  was  decreed 
that  I  should  know  more  of  him. 

"  During  a  short  pause,  in  which  some  gentlemen 
and  ladies  were  discussing  the  merits  of  the  pieces  I 
had  read,  lauding  some  and  censuring  others,  the  gal- 
lant young  sportsman  (for  such  I  took  him  to  be)  arose 
from  his  chair,  and  bowing  with  a  most  courteous  and 
ingratiating  air  to  me,  offered  to  relieve  me  from  time 
to  time  in  reading,  lest  I  should  be  tired.  I  could  do 
no  less  than  accept  so  polite  an  offer,  and  immediately 
handed  him  the  book.  But  oh !  Apollo  and  all  ye 
Muses  —  not  forgetting  the  Graces  —  what  was  I  then 
to  hear  ?  At  first,  indeed,  things  went  on  smoothly 
enough : 

"  '  Die  Zephyr'n  lauschten, 
Die  Bache  rauschten, 
Die  Sonne 
Verbreitet  ihr  Licht  mit  Wonne  '  — 

the  somewhat  more  solid,  substantial  fare  of  Voss, 
Stolberg,  and  Biirger  was  delivered  in  such  a  manner 
that  no  one  had  any  reason  to  complain. 

"  All  at  once,  however,  it  was  as  if  some  wild  and 
wanton  devil  had  taken  possession  of  the  young  reader, 
and  I  thought  I  saw  the  Wild  Huntsman  bodily  before 
me.  He  read  poems  that  had  no  existence  in 
the  '  Almanach ; '  broke  out  into  all  possible  modes 
and  dialects.  Hexameters,  iambics,  doggerel  verses 
one  after  another,  or  blended  in  strange  confusion, 
came  tumbling  out  in  torrents.  What  wild  and 
humourous  fancies  did  he  not  combine  that  evening  ! 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  311 

Amidst  them  came  such  nohle,  magnificent  thoughts, 
thrown  in  detached  and  flitting,  that  the  au thorns  to 
whom  he  ascribed  them  must  have  thanked  God  on 
their  knees  if  they  had  fallen  upon  their  desks. 

"  As  soon  as  the  joke  was  discovered,  universal 
merriment  spread  through  the  room.  He  put  every- 
body present  out  of  countenance  in  one  way  or  the 
other.  Even  my  Msecenasship,  which  I  had  always 
regarded  it  as  a  sort  of  duty  to  exercise  toward  young 
authors,  poets,  and  artists,  had  its  turn.  Though  he 
praised  it  highly  on  the  one  side,  he  did  not  forget 
to  insinuate  on  the  other  that  I  claimed  a  sort  of  prop- 
erty in  the  individuals  to  whom  I  aflbrded  support  and 
countenance.  In  a  little  fable  composed  extempore  in 
doggerel  verses,  he  likened  me  wittily  enough  to  a 
worthy  and  most  enduring  turkey  hen,  that  sits  on 
a  great  heap  of  eggs  of  her  own  and  other  people's,  and 
hatches  them  with  infinite  patience ;  but  to  whom  it 
sometimes  happens  to  have  a  chalk  egg  put  under  her 
instead  of  a  real  one:  a  trick  at  which  she  takes  no 
offence. 

" '  That  is  either  Goethe  or  the  Devil ! '  cried  I  to 
Wieland,  who  sat  opposite  me.     '  Both,'  he  rephed." 

It  is  worth  bearing  in  mind  lohat  the  young  Goethe 
was,  that  we  may  the  better  understand  the  reason  of 
what  he  became.  No  sooner  had  he  commenced  his 
career  as  politician,  than  he  began  to  tone  down  the 
extravagance  of  his  demeanour ;  without  foregoing  any 
enjoyments,  he  tried  to  accord  more  with  those  in 
whom  a  staid  demeanour  was  necessitated  by  their 
more  flagging  pulses  of  lethargic  life.  One  month 
after  his  appointment  Wieland  writes  of  him :  "  Goethe 
did  in  truth,  during  the  first  months  of  his  visit  here, 
scandalise  most  people  (never  me) ;  but  from  the 
moment  that  he  decided  on  becoming  a  man  of 
business,  he  has  conducted  himself  with  blameless 
(Tw<i)po(Tvvy)  and  all  worldly  prudence."     Elsewhere  he 


312  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

says :  "  Goethe,  with  all  his  real  and  apparent  sauva- 
gerie,  has,  in  his  little  finger,  more  conduite  and  savoir 
faire  than  all  the  court  parasites,  Boniface  sneaks, 
and  political  cobweb-spinners  have  in  their  whole 
bodies  and  souls.  So  long  as  Karl  August  lives  no 
power  can  remove  him." 

As  we  familiarise  ourselves  with  the  details  of  this 
episode,  there  appears  less  and  less  plausibility  in  the 
often  iterated  declamation  against  Goethe  on  the  charge 
of  his  having  "  sacrificed  his  genius  to  the  court."  It 
becomes  indeed  a  singularly  foolish  display  of  rhetoric. 
Let  us  for  a  moment  consider  the  charge.  He  had  to 
choose  a  career.  That  of  poet  was  then,  as  it  is 
still,  terribly  delusive;  verse  could  create  fame;  but 
no  money ;  fama  and  fames  were  then,  as  now,  in 
terrible  contiguity.  No  sooner  is  the  necessity  for 
a  career  admitted  than  much  objection  falls  to  the 
ground ;  for  those  who  reproach  him  with  having 
wasted  his  time  on  court  festivities,  and  the  duties  of 
government  which  others  could  have  done  as  well, 
must  ask  whether  he  would  have  saved  that  time  had 
he  followed  the  career  of  jurisprudence  and  jostled 
lawyers  through  the  courts  at  Frankfort  ?  or  would 
they  prefer  seeing  him  reduced  to  the  condition  of  poor 
Schiller,  wasting  so  much  of  his  precious  life  in  liter- 
ary "  hack  work,"  translating  French  books  for  a  miser- 
able pittance  ?  Time,  in  any  case,  would  have  been 
claimed ;  in  return  for  that  given  to  Karl  August,  he 
received,  as  he  confesses  in  the  poem  addressed  to 
the  duke,  "  what  the  great  seldom  bestow  —  affection, 
leisure,  confidence,  garden,  and  house.  No  one  have 
I  had  to  thank  but  him;  and  much  have  I  wanted, 
who,  as  a  poet,  ill  understood  the  arts  of  gain.  If 
Europe  praised  me,  what  has  Europe  done  for  me? 
Nothing.  Even  my  works  have  been  an  expense 
to  me." 

In  1801,  writing  to  his  mother  on  the  complaints 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF   GOETHE  313 

uttered  against  him  by  those  who  judged  falsely  of 
his  condition,  he  says  they  only  saw  what  he  gave  up, 
not  what  he  gained  —  they  could  not  comprehend  how 
he  grew  daily  richer,  though  he  daily  gave  up  so  much. 
He  confesses  that  the  narrow  circle  of  a  burgher  life 
would  have  ill  accorded  with  his  ardent  and  wide- 
sweeping  spirit.  Had  he  remained  at  Frankfort,  he 
would  have  been  ignorant  of  the  world.  But  here 
the  panorama  of  hfe  was  unrolled  before  him,  and 
his  experience  was  every  way  enlarged.  Did  not 
Leonardo  da  Yinci  spend  much  of  his  time  charming 
the  court  of  Milan  with  his  poetry  and  lute-playing  ? 
did  he  not  also  spend  time  in  mechanical  and  hydro- 
statical  labours  for  the  state  ?  No  reproach  is  lifted 
against  his  august  name ;  no  one  cries  out  against  his 
being  false  to  his  genius ;  no  one  rebukes  him  for 
having  painted  so  httle  at  one  period.  The  "  Last 
Supper "  speaks  for  him.  Will  not  "  Tasso,"  "  Iphi- 
genia,"  "  Hermann  und  Dorothea,"  "  Faust,"  "  Meister," 
and  the  long  hst  of  Goethe's  works,  speak  for  Mm  ? 

I  have  dw^elt  mainly  on  the  dissipation  of  his  time, 
because  the  notion  that  a  court  hfe  affected  his  genius 
by  "  corrupting  his  mind  "  is  preposterous.  No  reader 
of  this  biography,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will  fail  to  see  the 
true  relations  in  which  he  stood  to  the  duke ;  how  free 
they  were  from  anything  like  servility,  or  suppression 
of  genuine  impulse.  Indeed  one  of  the  complaints 
against  him,  according  to  the  unexceptionable  authority 
of  Riemer,  was  that  made  by  the  subalterns,  "  of  his 
not  being  sufficiently  attentive  to  court  etiquette."  To 
say,  as  Niebuhr  says,  that  the  "  court  was  a  Delilah 
to  which  he  sacrificed  his  locks,"  is  profoundly  to  mis- 
understand his  genius,  profoundly  to  misread  his  life. 
Had  his  genius  been  of  that  stormy  kind  which  pro- 
duces great  Reformers  and  great  Martyrs,  —  had  it 
been  his  mission  to  agitate  mankind  by  words  which, 
reverberating  to  their  inmost  recesses,  called  them  to 


314  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

lay  down  their  lives  in  the  service  of  an  Idea,  —  had 
it  been  his  tendency  to  meditate  upon  the  far-off  des- 
tinies of  man,  and  sway  men  by  the  coercion  of  grand 
representative  abstractions  —  then,  indeed,  we  might 
say  his  place  was  aloof  from  the  motley  throng,  and 
not  in  saihng  down  the  swiftly  flowing  stream  to 
sounds  of  mirth  and  music  on  the  banks.  But  he 
was  not  a  Keformer,  not  a  Martyr.  He  was  a  Poet, 
whose  religion  was  Beauty,  whose  worship  was  of 
Nature,  whose  aim  was  Culture.  His  mission  was 
to  paint  Life,  and  for  that  it  was  requisite  he  should 
see  it.  Happier  circumstances  might  indeed  have  sur- 
rounded him,  and  given  him  a  greater  sphere.  It 
would  have  been  very  different,  as  he  often  felt,  if 
there  had  been  a  Nation  to  appeal  to,  instead  of  a 
heterogeneous  mass  of  small  peoples,  willing  enough 
to  talk  of  Fatherland,  but  in  nowise  prepared  to  become 
a  Nation.  There  are  many  other  ifs  in  which  much 
virtue  could  be  found ;  but  inasmuch  as  he  could  not 
create  circumstances,  we  must  follow  his  example,  and 
be  content  with  what  the  gods  provided.  I  do  not,  I 
confess,  see  what  other  sphere  was  open  to  him  in 
which  his  genius  could  have  been  more  sacred ;  but 
I  do  see  that  he  built  out  of  circumstances  a  noble 
Temple  in  which  the  altar-flame  burnt  with  a  steady 
light.  To  hypothetical  biographers  be  left  the  task 
of  settling  what  Goethe  might  have  been;  enough  for 
us  to  catch  some  glimpse  of  what  he  was, 

"  Poetry,"  says  Carlyle,  "  is  the  attempt  which  man 
makes  to  render  his  existence  harmonious."  It  is  the 
flower  into  which  a  life  expands ;  but  it  is  not  the  life 
itself,  with  all  daily  needs,  daily  stru^iigles,  daily  prosa- 
isms. The  true  poet  manfully  accei)ts  the  condition 
in  which  destiny  has  placed  him,  and  therein  tries  to 
make  his  existence  harmonious ;  the  sham  poet,  like 
a  weak  workman,  fretful  over  his  tools,  is  loud  in  his 
assurances  of  what  he  77iight  be,  were  it  his  lot  to  live 


LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE  315 

in  other  circumstances.  Goethe  was  led  by  the  current 
of  events  to  a  Httle  court,  where  he  was  arrested  by 
friendship,  love,  leisure,  and  opportunities  of  a  freer, 
nobler  hfe  than  Frankfort  Law  Courts  offered  him. 
After  much  deliberation  he  chose  his  career;  these 
pages  will  show  how  in  it  he  contrived  to  be  true  to 
his  genius. 

It  is  scarcely  worth  while  to  notice  trash  about  his 
serviUty  and  court  slavery.  He  was  not  required 
to  be  servile ;  and  his  nature  was  as  proud  as  any 
prince's.  "  They  call  me  a  prince's  servant,"  he  said 
to  Eckermann,  "  and  a  prince's  slave ;  as  if  there  were 
any  meaning  in  such  words !  Whom  do  I  serve  ?  A 
tyrant  —  a  despot  ?  Do  I  serve  one  who  lives  for  his 
own  pleasures  at  the  people's  cost  ?  Such  princes  and 
such  times  are,  thank  God !  far  enough  from  us.  For 
more  than  half  a  century  I  have  been  connected  in  the 
closest  relations  \vith  the  grand  duke,  and  for  half 
a  century  have  striven  and  toiled  with  him ;  but  I 
should  not  be  speaking  truth  were  I  to  say  that 
I  could  name  a  single  day  on  which  the  duke  had 
not  his  thoughts  busied  with  something  to  be  devised 
and  effected  for  the  good  of  the  country;  something 
calculated  to  better  the  condition  of  each  individual 
in  it.  As  for  himself,  personally,  what  has  his  princely 
state  given  him  but  a  burden  and  a  task  ?  Is  his 
dwelhng,  or  his  dress,  or  his  table  more  sumptuously 
provided  than  that  of  any  private  man  in  easy  circum- 
stances ?  Go  into  our  maritime  cities,  and  you  will 
find  the  larder  and  cellar  of  every  considerable  mer- 
chant better  filled  than  his.  If,  then,  I  am  a  prince's 
slave,  it  is  at  least  my  consolation  that  I  am  but  the 
slave  of  one  who  is  himself  a  slave  of  the  general 
good." 

And  to  close  this  subject,  read  the  following  passage 
from  Merck's  letter  to  Nicolai  —  (the  Merck  who  is 
said  by  Falk  to  have  spoken  so  bitterly  of  the  waste 


o 


1 6  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 


of  Goethe's  life  at  Weimar) :  "  I  have  lately  paid 
Goethe  a  visit  at  the  Wartburg,  and  we  have  lived 
together  for  ten  days  like  children.  I  am  delighted 
to  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes  what  his  situation  is. 
The  duke  is  the  best  of  all,  and  has  a  character  firm 
as  iron :  /  would  do,  for  love  of  him,  just  what  Goethe 
does.  ...  I  tell  you  sincerely  that  the  duke  is  most 
worthy  of  respect,  and  one  of  the  cleverest  men  that 
I  have  ever  seen,  —  and  consider  that  he  is  a  prince, 
and  only  twenty  years  of  age  ! "  The  long  and  friendly 
correspondence  Merck  kept  up  with  the  duke  is  the 
best  pledge  that  the  foregoing  estimate  was  sincere. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE    FRAU    VON    STEIN. 

From  out  the  many  flirtations  that  amused  him, 
there  arises  one  which  grew  into  predominant  impor- 
tance, swallowing  up  all  the  others,  and  leaping  from 
lambent  flame  into  eager  and  passionate  fire.  It  was 
no  "transitory  flash,  but  a  fire  which  burnt  for  ten 
years ;  and  thereby  is  distinguished  from  all  previous 
attachments.  It  is  a  silver  thread  woven  among  the 
many-coloured  threads  which  formed  the  tapestry  of 
his  life.     I  will  here  detach  it,  to  consider  it  by  itself. 

The  Baroness  von  Stein,  "  Hofdame,"  and  wife  of 
the  Master  of  the  Horse,  was,  both  by  family  and 
position,  a  considerable  person.  To  us  she  is  interest- 
ing as  having  sprung  from  a  Scotch  family,  the  Irvings 
of  Drum,  and  as  being  the  sister-in-law  to  that  Baron 
Imhoff  who  sold  his  first  wife  to  Warren  Hastings. 
She  was  the  mother  of  seven  children,  and  had  reached 
that  age  which,  in  fascinating  woman,  is  of  perilous 
fascination  —  the  age  of  three  and  thirty.  We  can 
understand  something  of  her  power  if  we  look  at  her 
portrait,  and  imagine  those  delicate,  coquettish  features 
animated  with  the  lures  of  sensibility,  gaiety,  and 
experience  of  the  world.  She  sang  well,  played  well, 
sketched  well,  talked  well,  appreciated  poetry,  and 
handled  sentiment  with  the  delicate  tact  of  a  woman 
of  the  world.  Her  pretty  fingers  had  turned  over 
many  a  serious  book  ;  and  she  knew  how  to  gather 
honey   from  weeds.     With   moral  deficiencies,  which 

3'7 


3i8  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

this  history  will  betray,  she  was  to  all  acquaintances 
a  perfectly  charming  woman ;  and  retained  her  charm 
even  in  old  age,  as  many  living  witnesses  testify. 
Some  years  after  her  first  acquaintance  with  Goethe, 
Schiller  thus  writes  of  her  to  his  friend  Korner :  "  She 
is  really  a  genuine,  interesting  person,  and  I  quite 
understand  what  has  attached  Goethe  to  her.  Beauti- 
ful she  can  never  have  been  ;  but  her  countenance  has 
a  soft  earnestness,  and  a  quite  peculiar  openness.  A 
healthy  understanding,  truth,  and  feeling  lie  in  her 
nature.  She  has  more  than  a  thousand  letters  from 
Goethe ;  and  from  Italy  he  writes  to  her  every  week. 
They  say  the  connection  is  perfectly  pure  and  blame- 
less." 

It  was  at  Pyrmont  that  Goethe  first  saw  the  Frau 
von  Stein's  portrait,  and  was  three  nights  sleepless 
in  consequence  of  Zimmermann's  description  of  her. 
In  sending  her  that  flattering  detail,  Zimmermann 
added,  "  He  will  assuredly  come  to  Weimar  to  see 
you,"  Under  her  portrait  Goethe  wrote,  "  What  a 
glorious  poem  it  would  be  to  see  how  the  world  mir- 
rors itself  in  this  soul !  She  sees  the  world  as  it  is, 
and  yet  withal  sees  it  through  the  medium  of  love ; 
hence  sweetness  is  the  dominant  expression."  In  her 
reply  to  Zimmermann  she  begs  to  hear  more  about 
Goethe,  and  intimates  her  desire  to  see  him.  This 
calls  forth  a  reply  that  she  "  has  no  idea  of  the  danger 
of  his  magical  presence."  Such  dangers  pretty  women 
gladly  run  into,  especially  when,  like  Charlotte  von 
Stein,  they  are  perfect  mistresses  of  themselves. 

With  his  heart  still  trembling  from  the  agitations 
of  victory  over  its  desires,  after  he  had  torn  himself 
away  from  Lili,  he  saw  this  charming  woman.  The 
earth  continues  warm  long  after  tlie  sun  has  glided 
below  the  horizon ;  and  the  heart  continues  warm 
some  time  after  the  departure  of  its  sun.  Goethe  was 
therefore  prepared  to  fall  desperately  in  love  with  one 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  319 

who  "  viewed  all  things  through  the  medium  of  love." 
And  there  is  considerable  interest  iu  noting  the  Tcind 
of  idol  now  selected.  Hitherto  he  has  been  captivated 
only  by  very  young  girls,  whose  youth,  beauty,  and 
girlishness  were  the  charms  to  his  wandering  fancy ; 
but  now  he  is  fascinated  by  a  woman,  a  woman  of 
rank  and  elegance,  a  woman  of  culture  and  experience, 
a  woman  who,  instead  of  abandoning  herself  to  the 
charm  of  his  affection,  knew  how,  without  descending 
from  her  pedestal,  to  keep  the  flame  ahve.  The  others 
loved  him,  —  showed  him  their  love,  —  and  were  for- 
gotten. She  contrived  to  keep  him  in  the  pleasant 
fever  of  hope ;  made  herself  necessary  to  him ;  made 
her  love  an  aim,  and  kept  him  in  the  excitement  of  one 

<*  Who  never  is,  but  always  to  be  blest." 

Considering  the  state  of  society  and  opinion  at  that 
period,  and  considering  moreover  that,  according  to 
her  son's  narrative,  her  husband  was  scarcely  seen 
in  his  own  home  more  than  once  a  week,  and  that  no 
pretence  of  affection  existed  between  them,  we  could 
understand  how  Goethe's  notorious  passion  for  her 
excited  sympathy  in  Weimar.  Not  a  word  of  blame 
escaped  any  one  on  this  subject.  They  saw  a  lover 
whose  mistress  gave  him  just  enough  encouragement 
to  keep  him  eager  in  pursuit,  and  who  knew  how  to 
check  him  when  that  eagerness  would  press  on  too  far. 
In  his  early  letters  to  her  there  are  sudden  outbreaks 
and  reserves ;  sometimes  the  affectionate  tliou  escapes, 
and  the  next  day,  perhaps  even  in  the  next  sentence, 
the  prescribed  you  returns.  The  letters  follow  almost 
daily.  So  early  as  January,  1776,  this  significant 
phrase  escapes :  "  Adieu,  angel !  I  shall  never  become 
more  prudent ;  and  have  to  thank  God  for  it.  Adieu  ! 
and  yet  it  grieves  me  that  I  love  thee  so  —  and 
precisely  thee ! " 


320  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Here  is  an  answer,  apparently,  to  something  she  has 
written  (for  unhappily  we  have  none  of  her  letters : 
she  had  taken  the  precaution  to  demand  her  letters 
hack  from  him,  and  burnt  them,  carefully  preserving 
his): 

"  Wherefore  must  I  plague  thee !  dearest  creature ! 
Wherefore  deceive  myself  and  plague  thee !  We  can 
be  nothing  to  each  other,  and  yet  are  too  much  to 
each  other.  Believe  me  thou  art  in  all  things  one 
with  me  —  but  because  I  see  things  as  they  are  it 
makes  me  mad !  Good  night,  angel,  and  good  morn- 
ing. I  will  see  thee  no  more  .  .  .  Only  .  .  .  Thou 
knowest  all  .  .  .  My  heart  is  .  .  .  All  I  can  say  is 
mere  folly.  In  future  I  shall  see  thee  as  men  see  the 
stars."  A  few  days  after,  he  writes,  "Adieu,  dear 
sister,  since  it  must  be  so." 

I  select  the  following  as  indicating  the  tone : 
"  1st  May.  To-day  I  shall  not  see  you.  Your  presence 
yesterday  made  so  wonderful  an  impression  on  me, 
that  I  know  not  as  yet  whether  I  am  well  or  ill  from 
it.  Adieu,  dearest  lady."  "  1st  May.  Evening.  Thou 
art  right  to  make  me  a  saint,  that  is  to  say,  to  remove 
me  from  thy  heart.  Holy  as  thou  art,  I  cannot  make 
thee  a  saint.  To-morrow,  therefore  .  .  .  Well,  I  will 
not  see  thee.  Good  night!"  On  the  24th  of  May, 
a  passionate  letter  reveals  that  she  had  written  or 
spoken  to  him  in  a  decided  tone  about "  appearances  " 
and  "  the  world : "  "  So  the  purest,  most  beautiful, 
truest  relation  I  ever  had  to  a  woman,  except  to  my 
sister,  that  also  must  be  disturbed !  I  was  prepared 
for  it ;  but  I  suffered  infinitely  on  account  of  the  past 
and  the  future,  and  of  the  poor  child  thus  consecrated 
in  sorrow.  I  will  not  see  you ;  your  presence  would 
make  me  sad.  If  I  am  not  to  live  with  you,  your  love 
will  help  me  no  more  than  the  love  of  those  absent,  in 
which  I  am  so  rich.  Presence,  in  the  moment  of  need, 
discerns,  alleviates,  and  strengthens.    The  absent  comes 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  321 

with  the  hose  wheu  the  fire  is  extinguished  —  and  all 
for  the  sake  of  the  world !  The  world,  which  cau  be 
nothing  to  me,  will  not  let  thee  be  anything  to  me. 
You  know  not  what  you  do.  .  .  .  The  hand  of  one 
in  solitude  who  hears  not  the  voice  of  love,  presses 
hard  where  it  rests.  Adieu,  best  of  women  ! "  "  25th 
May.  You  are  always  the  same,  always  infinite  love 
and  goodness.  Forgive  me  if  I  make  you  sutler.  I 
will  learn  to  bear  my  suffering  alone."  "2d  June. 
Adieu.  Love  me  as  ever,  I  will  come  seldomer  and 
write  seldomer."  "4th  June.  Here,  dear  lady,  is  the 
tribute.  I  will  see  if  I  can  keep  my  resolution  not  to 
come.  You  are  not  quite  safe  with  me.  Yesterday 
there  were  again  some  moments  in  which  I  really  felt 
how  I  love  you."  "6th  June.  So  you  could  do  me 
the  imkindness  of  remaining  away,  yesterday  !  Truly 
what  you  do  must  be  right  in  my  eyes !  But  it  made 
me  sad."  "  7th  June.  You  are  a  darling  to  have  told 
me  all.  When  one  loves,  one  should  tell  everything. 
Dearest  angel,  and  I  have  again  three  words  which 
will  set  you  at  rest,  but  only  words  from  me  to  thee ! 
I  shall  come  to-day." 

She  was  forced  to  quit  Weimar  for  awhile.  "  Dear- 
est lady,"  he  writes,  "  I  dare  not  think  you  are  going 
away  on  Tuesday,  and  that  you  will  be  away  from  me 
six  months.  For  what  avails  all  else  ?  It  is  'presence 
alone  which  influences,  consoles,  and  edifies !  even 
though  it  sometimes  torments  —  torment  is  the  sun- 
shower  of  love." 

Here  is  a  curious  passage :  "  Last  night  as  I  lay  in 
bed  half-asleep,  Philip  brought  me  a  letter ;  half  stupe- 
fied, I  read  —  that  Lili  is  betrothed  !  I  turn  round 
and  fall  asleep.  How  I  pray  that  fate  may  act  so  by 
me  in  the  right  moment.  Dear  angel,  good  night." 
One  more  extract.  "  Oh  I  you  have  a  way  of  giving 
pain  which  is  like  that  of  destiny,  which  admits  of  no 
complaint,  however  it  may  grieve." 


322  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

In  a  little  while  the  tone  grows  more  subdued. 
Just  as  the  tone  of  his  behaviour  in  Weimar,  after  the 
first  wild  weeks,  became  softened  to  a  lower  key,  so 
in  these  letters  we  see,  after  awhile,  fewer  passionate 
outbreaks,  fewer  interjections,  and  no  more  tlious.  But 
love  warms  them  still.  The  letters  are  incessant,  and 
show  an  incessant  preoccupation.  Certain  sentimental 
readers  will  be  shocked,  perhaps,  to  find  so  many 
details  about  eating  and  drinking ;  but  when  they 
remember  Charlotte  cutting  bread  and  butter,  they 
may  understand  the  author  of  "  Werther  "  eloquently 
begging  his  beloved  to  send  him  a  sausage. 

The  visitor  may  still  read  the  inscription,  at  once 
homage  and  souvenir,  by  which  Goethe  connected  the 
happy  hours  of  love  with  the  happy  hours  of  active 
sohtude  passed  in  his  garden-house  in  the  park. 
Fitly  is  the  place  dedicated  to  the  Frau  von  Stein. 
The  whole  spot  speaks  of  her.  Here  are  the  flower- 
beds from  which  almost  every  morning  flowers,  with 
the  dew  still  on  them,  accompanied  letters  not  less 
fresh  and  beautiful,  to  greet  the  beloved.  Here  are 
the  beds  from  which  came  the  asparagus  he  was  so 
proud  to  send  her.  Here  is  the  orchard  in  which  grew 
the  fruit  he  so  often  sent.  Here  is  the  room  in  which 
he  dreamt  of  her ;  here  the  room  in  which  he  worked 
while  her  image  hovered  round  him.  The  house  stands 
within  twenty  minutes'  walk  from  the  house  where  she 
lived,  separated  by  clusters  of  noble  trees. 

If  the  reader  turns  back  to  the  description  of  the 
park,  he  will  ascertain  the  position  of  this  Gartenhaus. 
Originally  it  belonged  to  Bertuch.  One  day,  when  the 
duke  was  earnestly  pressing  Goethe  to  take  up  his 
residence  at  Weimar,  the  poet  (who  then  lived  in  the 
Jagerhaus  in  the  Belvedere  AUde),  undecided  as  to 
whether  he  should  go  or  remain,  let  fall,  among  other 
excuses,  the  want  of  a  quiet  bit  of  land,  where  his  taste 
for  gardening  could  be  indulged.     "  Bertuch,  for  ex- 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  323 

ample,  is  very  comfortable ;  if  I  had  but  such  a  piece 
of  ground  as  that ! "  Hereupon  the  duke,  very  char- 
acteristically, goes  to  Bertuch,  aud  without  periphrasis, 
says,  "  I  must  have  your  garden."  Bertuch  starts  :  "  But 
your  Highness  —  "  "  But  me  no  buts,"  replies  the 
young  prince ;  "  I  can't  help  you.  Goethe  wants  it, 
and  unless  we  give  it  to  him  we  shall  never  keep  him 
here ;  it  is  the  only  way  to  secure  him."  This  reason 
would  probably  not  have  been  so  cogent  with  Bertuch 
had  not  the  duke  excused  the  despotism  of  his  act  by 
giving  in  exchange  more  than  the  value  of  the  garden. 
It  was  at  first  only  lent  to  Goethe;  but  in  1780  it 
was  made  a  formal  gift. 

It  is  charmingly  situated,  and,  although  of  modest 
pretensions,  is  one  of  the  most  enviable  houses  in 
Weimar.  The  Ilm  runs  through  the  meadows  which 
front  it.  The  town,  although  so  near,  is  completely 
shut  out  from  view  by  the  thick-growing  trees.  The 
solitude  is  absolute,  broken  only  by  the  occasional 
sound  of  the  church  clock,  the  music  from  the  bar- 
racks, and  the  screaming  of  the  peacocks  spreading 
their  superb  beauty  in  the  park.  So  fond  was  Goethe 
of  this  house,  that  winter  and  summer  he  lived  there 
for  seven  years;  and  when,  in  1782,  the  duke  made 
him  a  present  of  the  house  in  the  Frauenplan,  he  could 
not  prevail  upon  himself  to  sell  the  Gartenhaus,  but 
continued  to  make  it  a  favourite  retreat.  Often  when 
he  chose  to  be  alone  and  undisturbed,  he  locked  all  the 
gates  of  the  bridges  which  led  from  the  town  to  his 
house,  so  that,  as  Wieland  complained,  no  one  could 
get  at  him  except  by  aid  of  picklock  and  crowbar. 

It  was  here,  in  this  little  garden,  he  studied  the 
development  of  plants,  and  made  many  of  those  ex- 
periments and  observations  which  have  given  him 
a  high  rank  among  the  discoverers  in  Science.  It 
was  here  the  poet  escaped  from  court.  It  was  here 
the  lover  was  happy  in  his  love.     How  modest   this 


324  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

garden-house  really  is ;  how  far  removed  from  any- 
thing like  one's  preconceptions  of  it !  It  is  true,  that 
the  position  is  one  which  many  a  rich  townsman  in 
England  would  be  glad  of  as  the  site  for  a  handsome 
villa :  a  pretty  orchard  and  garden  on  a  gentle  slope ; 
in  front,  a  good  carriage  road,  running  beside  a  fine 
meadow,  encircled  by  the  stately  trees  of  the  park. 
But  the  house,  a  half-pay  captain  with  us  would  con- 
sider a  miserable  cottage ;  yet  it  sufficed  for  the  court 
favourite  and  minister.  Here  the  duke  was  constantly 
with  him ;  sitting  up  till  deep  in  the  night,  in  earnest 
discussion  ;  often  sleeping  on  the  sofa  instead  of  going 
home.  Here  both  duke  and  duchess  would  come  and 
dine  with  him,  in  the  most  simple  unpretending  way ; 
the  whole  banquet  in  one  instance  consisting,  as  we 
learn  from  a  casual  phrase  in  the  Stein  correspondence, 
of  "  a  beer  soup  and  a  little  cold  meat."  ^ 

There  is  something  very  pleasant  in  noticing  these 
traits  of  the  simpHcity  which  was  then  practised.  The 
duke's  own  hut  —  the  Borkenhaus  —  has  already  been 
described  (page  277).  The  hut,  for  it  was  nothing 
else,  in  which  Goethe  lived  in  the  Ilmenau  mountains, 
and  the  more  than  bourgeois  simplicity  of  the  Garden 
House,  make  us  aware  of  one  thing  among  others, 
namely,  that  if  he  sacrificed  his  genius  to  a  court,  it 
assuredly  was  not  for  loaves  and  fishes,  not  for  luxury 
and  material  splendour  of  any  kind.  Indeed,  such 
things  had  no  temptation  to  a  man  of  his  simple  tastes. 
'•  Kich  in  money,"  he  writes  to  his  beloved,  "  I  shaU 
never  become ;  but,  therefore,  all  the  richer  in  Confi- 
dence, Good  Name,  and  Influence  over  the  minds  of 
men." 

It  was  his  love  of  Nature  which  made  him  so  indif- 
ferent to  luxury.  That  love  gave  him  simplicity  and 
hardihood.     In  many  things  he  was  unlike  his  nation : 

^  Compare  also  the  "  Brief  wechsel  zwischen  Karl  August  und 
Goethe,"  i.  27. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  325 

notably  in  his  voluntary  exposure  to  two  bright, 
wholesome  things,  which  to  his  contemporaries  were 
little  less  than  bugbears  —  I  mean,  fresh  air  and  cold 
water.  The  nation  which  consented  to  hve  in  the 
atmosphere  of  iron  stoves,  tobacco,  and  bad  breath,  and 
which  deemed  a  pint  of  water  all  that  man  could 
desire  for  his  ablutions,  must  have  been  gi-eatly  per- 
plexed at  seeing  Goethe  indulge  in  fresh  air  and  cold 
water  as  enjoyingly  as  if  they  were  vices. 

Two  anecdotes  will  bring  this  contrast  into  rehef. 
So  great  was  the  German  reluctance  to  even  a  neces- 
sary exposure  to  the  inclemencies  of  open-air  exercise, 
that  historians  inform  us  "a  great  proportion,  espe- 
cially among  the  learned  classes,  employed  a  miserable 
substitute  for  exercise  in  the  shape  of  a  machine,  by 
means  of  which  they  comfortably  took  their  dose  of 
movement  without  leaving  their  rooms."  ^  And  Jacobs, 
in  his  "  Personalien,"  records  a  fact  which,  while  explain- 
ing how  the  above-named  absurdity  could  have  gained 
ground,  paints  a  sad  picture  of  the  life  of  German 
youth  in  those  days.  Describing  his  boyish  days  at 
Gotha,  he  says :  "  Our  winter  pleasures  were  confined 
to  a  not  very  spacious  courtyard,  exchanged  in  summer 
for  a  little  garden  within  the  walls,  which  my  father 
hired.  We  took  no  walks.  Only  once  a  year,  when  the 
harvest  ivas  ripe,  our  parents  took  us  out  to  spend  an 
evening  in  the  fields."  2  So  little  had  Goethe  of  this 
prejudice  against  fresh  air,  that  when  he  began  the 
rebuilding  of  his  Gartenhaus,  instead  of  sleeping  at  an 
hotel  or  at  the  house  of  a  friend,  he  lived  there  through 
all  the  building  period ;  and  we  find  him  writing,  "  At 
last  I  have  a  window  once  more,  and  can  make  a  fire." 
On  the  3d  of  May  he  writes,  "  Good  morning :  here  is 

1  Biederman  :  "  Deutschland's  Politische,  Materielle  und  So- 
ciale  Zustande,"  1,  p.  343. 

2 Quoted  by  Mrs.  Austin:  "Germany  from  1760  to  1814," 
p.  85. 


326  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

asparagus.  How  were  you  yesterday  ?  Philip  baked 
me  a  cake ;  and  thereupon,  wrapped  up  in  my  blue 
cloak,  I  laid  myself  on  a  dry  corner  of  the  terrace 
and  slept  amid  thunder,  lightning,  and  rain,  so  glo- 
riously that  my  bed  was  afterward  quite  disagreeable." 
On  the  19th  he  writes,  "Thanks  for  the  breakfast.  I 
send  you  something  in  return.  Last  night  I  slept  on 
the  terrace,  wrapped  in  my  blue  cloak,  awoke  three 
times,  at  12,  2,  and  4,  and  each  time  there  was  a  new 
splendour  in  the  heavens."  There  are  other  traces  of 
this  tendency  to  bivouac,  but  these  will  suffice.  He 
bathed  not  only  in  the  morning  sunlight,  but  also  in 
the  Ilm,  when  the  moonlight  shimmered  on  it.  Always 
in  the  free  air  seeking  vigour  — 

"  Tauche  mich  in  die  Sonne  friih 
Bad'  ab  im  Monde  des  Tages  Miih'." 

The  duke  shared  his  love  of  bathing,  which  Decem- 
ber's cold  could  not  arrest.  It  was  here  Goethe 
learned  to  swim  by  the  aid  of  "  corks  "  (which  so  often 
served  him  as  an  illustration),  and  no  inclemency  of 
the  weather  could  keep  him  out  of  the  water.  The 
fascination  of  water  luring  into  its  treacherous  depths, 
is  wonderfully  expressed  by  him  in  that  ballad,  which 
every  one  knows,  and  almost  every  one  tries  to 
translate.     I  have  tried  my  hand  in  this  version : 


THE  FISHERMAN. 

"  The  water  rushed,  the  water  swelled  : 

A  fisherman  sat  by, 
And  gazed  upon  his  dancing  float 

With  tranquil-dreaming  eye. 
And  as  he  sits,  and  as  he  looks, 

The  gurgling  waves  arise; 
A  maid,  all  bright  with  water-drops, 

Stands  straight  before  his  eyes. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  327 

"  She  sang  to  him,  she  .spake  to  him  : 
'  My  titili  why  dost  thou  snare 
With  Imnian  wit  ami  liunian  guile 

Into  the  killing  air  V 
Coulilst  see  liow  happy  tislies  live 

Under  the  stream  so  clear, 
Thyself  would  plunge  into  the  stream, 
And  live  lor  ever  there. 

" '  Bathe  not  the  lovely  sun  and  moon 

Within  the  cool  deep  sea, 
And  with  wave-breathing  faces  rise 

In  twofold  witchery  '{ 
Lure  not  the  misty  heaven -deeps 

So  beautiful  and  blue? 
Lures  not  thine  image,  mirrored  in 

The  fresh  eternal  dew  ? ' 

"  The  water  rushed,  the  water  swelled, 

It  clasped  his  feet,  I  wis ; 
A  thrill  went  through  his  yearning  heart 

As  when  two  lovers  kiss  ! 
She  spake  to  him,  she  sang  to  him  : 

Resistless  was  her  strain  ; 
Half  drew  him  in,  half  lured  him  in; 

He  ne'er  was  seen  again." 

One  night,  while  the  moon  was  calmly  sinning  on 
our  poetical  bather,  a  peasant,  returnin;];  home,  was  in 
the  act  of  climbing  over  the  bars  of  the  floating  bridge  ; 
Goethe  espied  him,  and  moved  by  that  spirit  of  devilry 
which  so  often  startled  Weimar,  he  gave  utterance  to 
wild  sepulchral  tones,  raised  himself  half  out  of  water, 
ducked  under,  and  reappeared  howling,  to  the  horror 
of  the  aghast  peasant,  whu,  hearing  such  sounds  issue 
from  a  figure  with  long  floating  hair,  fled  as  if  a  legion 
of  devils  were  at  hand.  To  tliis  day  there  remains  an 
ineradicable  beUef  in  the  existence  of  the  water-sprite 
who  howls  among  the  waters  of  the  Ilm. 


CHAPTEE   V. 

PRIVATE    THEATRICALS. 

"  Let  my  present  life,"  writes  Goethe  to  Lavater, 
January,  1777,  "continue  as  long  as  it  will,  at  any 
rate  I  have  heartily  enjoyed  a  genuine  experience  of 
the  variegated  throng  and  press  of  the  world  —  Sorrow, 
Hope,  Love,  Work,  Want,  Adventure,  Ennui,  Impa- 
tience, Eolly,  Joy,  the  Expected,  and  the  L^nknown,  the 
Superficial  and  the  Profound  —  just  as  the  dice  threw 
—  with  fetes,  dances,  sledgings  —  adorned  in  silk  and 
spangles  —  a  marvellous  menage  !  And  withal,  dear 
brother,  God  be  praised,  in  myself  and  in  my  real  aims 
in  life  I  am  quite  happy." 

"Goethe  plays  indeed  a  high  game  at  Weimar," 
writes  Merck,  "  but  lives  at  court  after  his  own  fashion. 
The  duke  is  an  excellent  man,  let  them  say  what  they 
will,  and  in  Goethe's  company  will  become  still  more 
so.  What  you  hear  is  court  scandal  and  lies.  It  is 
true  the  intimacy  between  master  and  servant  is  very 
great,  but  what  harm  is  there  in  that  ?  Were  Goethe  a 
nobleman  it  would  he  thought  quite  right.  He  is  the 
soul  and  direction  of  everything,  and  all  are  contented 
with  him,  because  he  serves  many  and  injures  no 
one.  Who  can  withstand  the  disinterestedness  of  this 
man  ? " 

He  had  begun  to  make  his  presence  felt  in  the 
serious  department  of  affairs ;  not  only  in  educating 
the  duke  who  had  chosen  him  as  his  friend,  but  also 

328 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  329 

in  practical  amelioratious.  He  had  induced  the  duke 
to  call  Herder  to  Weimar,  as  Hof  Pred'ujer  (court 
chaplain)  and  Gencral-swpcrintcndent ;  whereat  Weimar 
grumbled,  and  gossiped,  setting  afloat  stories  of  Herder 
haviug  mounted  the  pulpit  in  boots  and  spurs.  Not 
content  with  these  efforts  in  a  higlier  circle,  Goethe 
sought  to  improve  the  condition  of  the  people ;  and 
among  his  plans  we  note  one  for  the  opening  of  the 
Hmenau  mines,  which  for  many  years  had  been  left 
untouched. 

Amusement  went  hand  in  hand  with  business. 
Among  the  varied  amusements,  one,  which  greatly 
occupied  his  time  and  fancy,  deserves  a  more  special 
notice,  because  it  will  give  us  a  glimpse  of  the  court, 
and  will  also  show  us  how  the  poet  turned  sport  into 
profit.  I  allude  to  the  private  theatricals  which  were 
started  shortly  after  his  arrival.  It  should  be  premised 
that  the  theatre  was  still  in  ashes  from  the  fire  of 
1774.^  Seyler  had  carried  his  troupe  of  players  else- 
where ;  and  Weimar  was  without  its  stage.  Just  at  this 
period  private  theatricals  were  even  more  "  the  rage " 
than  they  are  in  England  at  present.  In  Berlin, 
Dresden,  Frankfort,  Augsburg,  Nuremberg,  and  Fulda, 
were  celebrated  amateur  troupes.  In  Wiirtzburg,  for 
a  long  while,  a  noble  company  put  on  sock  and  buskin  ; 
in  Eisenach,  prince  and  court  joined  in  the  sport. 
Even  the  universitia?,  which  in  earher  times  had,  from 
reHgious  scruples,  denounced  the  drama,  now  forgot 
their  antagonism,  and  in  Vienna,  Halle,  Gcittiugen,  and 
Jena,  allowed  the  students  to  have  private  stages. 

The  Weimar  theatre  surpassed  them  all.  It  had  its 
poets,  its  composers,  its  scene-painters,  its  costumiers. 
Whoever  showed  any  talent  for  recitation,  singing,  or 
dancing,  was  pressed  into  service,  and  had  to  work  as 
hard  as  if  his  bread  depended  on  it.     The  almost  daily 

*  On  the  state  of  the  theatre  before  Goethe's  arrival  and  subse- 
quently, see  Pasqu6,  **  Goethe's  Theaterleitung  in  Weimar,"  18G3. 


330  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

rehearsals  of  drama,  opera,  or  ballet,  occupied  and  de- 
lighted men  and  women  glad  to  have  something  to  do. 
The  troupe  was  distinguished :  the  Duchess  Amalia, 
Karl  August,  Prince  Constantine,  Bode,  Knebel,  Einsie- 
del,  Musseus,  Seckendorf,  Bertuch,  and  Goethe;  with 
Corona  Schrdter,  Kotzebue's  sister  Amalia,  and  Frau- 
lein  Gochhausen.  These  formed  a  curious  strolhng 
company,  wandering  from  Weimar  to  all  the  palaces 
in  the  neighbourhood  —  Ettersburg,  Tiefurt,  Belvedere, 
even  to  Jena,  Dornburg,  and  Ilmenau.  Often  did 
Bertuch,  as  Ealk  tells  us,  receive  orders  to  have  the 
sumpter  wagon,  or  travelling  kitchen,  ready  for  the 
early  dawn,  when  the  court  would  start  with  its  wan- 
dering troupe.  If  only  a  short  expedition  was  intended, 
three  sumpter  asses  were  sufficient.  If  it  was  more 
distant,  over  hill  and  dale,  far  into  the  distant  country, 
then  indeed  the  night  before  was  a  busy  one,  and  all 
the  ducal  pots  and  pans  were  in  requisition.  Such 
boihng  and  stewing,  and  roasting!  such  slaughter  of 
capons,  of  pigeons,  and  fowls !  The  ponds  of  the  Ilm 
were  dragged  for  fish ;  the  woods  were  robbed  of  their 
partridges;  the  cellars  were  lightened  of  their  wines. 
With  early  dawn  rode  forth  the  merry  party,  full  of 
anticipation,  wild  with  animal  spirits.  On  they  went 
through  sohtudes,  the  grand  old  trees  of  which  were 
wont  only  to  see  the  soaring  hawk  poised  above  their 
tops,  or  the  wild-eyed  deer  bounding  past  the  hut  of 
the  charcoal-burner.  On  they  went:  youth,  beauty, 
gladness,  and  hope,  a  goodly  train,  hke  that  which 
animated  the  forest  of  Ardennes,  when  "under  the 
shade  of  melancholy  boughs  "  the  pensive  duke  and  his 
followers  forgot  awhile  their  cares  and  "  painted  pomps." 
Their  stage  was  soon  arranged.  At  Ettersburg  the 
traces  are  stiU  visible  of  this  forest  stage,  where,  when 
weather  permitted,  the  performances  took  place.  A 
wing  of  the  chateau  was  also  made  into  a  theatre. 
But    the   open-air    performances   were    most   relished. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  331 

To  rehearsals  and  performauces  iu  Ettersbur^'  lIr' 
actors,  sometimes  as  many  as  twenty,  were  brought 
in  the  duke's  equipages ;  and  in  the  evening,  after  a 
joyous  supper,  often  enlivened  with  songs,  they  were 
conducted  home  by  the  duke's  body-guard  of  Hussars, 
bearing  torches.  It  was  here  they  performed  Eiusiedel's 
opera,  "  The  Gipsies,"  with  wonderful  illusions.  Several 
scenes  of  "  Gtitz  von  Berlichingen  "  were  woven  into  it. 
The  illuminated  trees,  the  crowd  of  gipsies  in  the  wood, 
the  dances  and  songs  under  the  blue,  starlit  heavens, 
while  the  sylvan  bugle  sounded  from  afar,  made  up  a 
picture  the  magic  of  which  was  never  forgotten.  On 
the  Ilm  also,  at  Tiefurt,  just  where  the  river  makes  a 
beautiful  bend  round  the  shore,  a  regular  theatre  was 
constructed.  Trees,  and  other  poetical  objects,  such  as 
fishermen,  nixies,  water-spirits,  moon  and  stars,  —  all 
were  introduced  with  effect. 

The  performances  were  of  the  same  varied  nature  as 
the  theatres.  Sometimes  French  comedies,  sometimes 
serious  works  of  art,  often  broad  extravaganzas.  Oc- 
casionally they  played  charades,  in  which  the  plan 
was  prearranged,  but  the  dialogue  left  to  the  improvi- 
sation of  the  actors.  Once  when  an  actor  grew  wordy 
and  wandering,  they  rushed  on  the  stage,  carried  him 
off  by  force,  and  informed  the  audience  (as  if  it  were 
part  of  the  piece)  that  he  was  suddenly  taken  ill. 
The  records  of  that  time  have  preserved  for  us  the 
outline  of  a  magical  piece,  got  up  in  honour  of  Goethe's 
birthday  — "  Minerva's  Birth,  Life,  and  Deeds."  It 
was  a  magnificent  magic-lantern  piece,  with  music  by 
Seckendorf.  The  characters  were  not  represented  by 
puppets,  but  by  gentlemen  and  ladies,  in  the  so-called 
Petit  Colisee  at  Tiefurt.  On  the  site  of  this  new  tem- 
ple of  the  Muses  stood  formerly  a  solitary  wood  hut. 
In  the  representation  every  ap})liauce  was  sought  after 
which  external  effect  demanded.  It  took  place  behind 
a  large  white  curtain,  en  silhouette.     In  the  "  Histoire 


332  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Universelle  des  Theatres  "  there  is  only  one  example  of 
a  theatrical  representation  of  this  kind,  namely,  the 
drama  which  Chiron  presented  to  his  pupil,  Achilles, 
and  which  had  the  same  object  and  significance  as 
the  Tiefurt  drama.  In  antiquity  such  representations 
were  called  umhrce  palpitantes,  by  moderns  oinhres 
chinoises.  They  were  introduced  at  the  Weimar  court 
about  this  time,  by  the  Duke  George  of  Saxe-Meiningen, 
and  were  very  much  in  favour  there. 

The   subject   of  this    Tiefurt  piece  is  remarkable: 
Jupiter  (in  the  person  of  the  painter  Kraus,  on  whose 
shoulders  was  placed  a  colossal  pasteboard  head),  in 
order  to  frustrate  the  prophecy  that  on  the  accouche- 
ment of  his  wife  Metis,  he  would  be  thrust  from  the 
throne,  has   devoured    Metis.      Thereupon    he   suffers 
terrible  pains  in  the  head  ;  Ganymede,  hovering  behind 
him  on  a  great  eagle,  offers  him  the  cup  of  nectar: 
the  pains  of  the  Thunderer  increase  visibly,  and  Gany- 
mede   soars   into    the    air    to    fetch    ^sculapius    and 
Vulcan,     ^sculapius  seeks  in  vain  to  cure  his  master. 
A    Cyclops,    who   is    summoned,    bleeds   him   at   the 
nose,  without  effect.     Then  comes  the  powerful  Vulcan 
(represented  by  the  young  Duke  Karl  August),  who, 
holding  in  one  hand  his  hammer,  in  the  other  a  great 
iron  bar,  and  encircled  by  an  apron,  approaches  his 
suffering   father,   and   with    one    good    stroke    of   the 
hammer  splits  his  divine  skull,  out  of  which  proceeds 
Minerva,  the  goddess  of  wisdom  (represented  by  Corona 
Schroter),  at  first  quite  a  small  figure,  but  by  means 
of  appropriate  machinery  becoming  larger  and  larger 
every  moment,  till  at  last  the  whole  of  her  tall,  slim 
form  is  revealed,  enveloped  in  light   gauze.      She  is 
received  by  Father  Zeus  in  the  most  friendly  manner ; 
and  rich  gifts  are  presented  to  her  by  all  the  gods. 
She  is  furnished  with  a  helmet,  an  segis,  and  a  lance ; 
Ganymede  places  Jupiter's  owl  at  her  feet,  and  amidst 
music  and  choral  singing  the  curtain  falls. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  333 

In  the  third  aucl  last  act,  the  poet  departed  from 
the  materials  of  the  myth.  He  made  the  new-born 
goddess  read  in  the  Book  of  Fate,  and  find  there  the 
^8th  of  August  ^  marked  as  one  of  the  most  fortunate 
days.  She  says  that  "on  that  day  three-aud-tliirty 
years  ago  a  man  was  given  to  the  world,  who  will  be 
honoured  as  one  of  the  best  and  wisest."  Then  appears 
a  winged  genius  in  the  clouds,  bearing  Goethe's  name. 
Minerva  crowns  this  name,  and  at  the  same  time  dedi- 
cates to  it  the  divine  gifts  which  have  been  immemori- 
ally  the  tokens  of  her  favour ;  for  example,  the  gulden 
lyre  of  Apollo,  and  the  tiowery  wreath  of  the  Muses. 
The  wliip  of  Momus  alone,  on  the  thong  of  which 
stood  the  word  "  Aves,"  is  laid  aside  and  rejected  by 
the  goddess;  while  the  names  Iphigenia  and  Faust 
appear  in  the  clouds  in  fire  transparencies.  At  the 
close,  Momus  advances  unabashed,  and  brings  the  rep- 
robated symbol  of  his  Art  as  a  present  to  Goethe. 

Such  was  the  opening  and  dedication  of  the  new 
Weimar-Tiefurt  Court  Theatre.  It  is  obvious  that  the 
piece  was  intended  purely  to  celebrate  the  birthday  of 
Goethe,  the  director  of  this  social  theatre;  and  gives 
us  not  a  bad  idea  of  the  ingenuity  and  pains  bestowed 
upon  these  amusements.  The  reader  will  not  fail  to 
notice  that,  if  Goethe  prepared  fetes  for  the  birthday 
of  his  duchess,  Weimar  also  prepared  fetes  for  the 
birthday  of  its  poet. 

Another  favourite  magic-lantern  piece  was  "  King 
Midas,"  which  is  mentioned  in  Amalia's  letters  to 
Knebel  in  the  year  1781.  But  the  best  known  of 
the  Tiefurt  dramas  is  Goethe's  operetta  "  Pie  Fisch- 
erin,"  performed  in  the  summer  of  1782.  Tlie  charm- 
ing text,  beginning  with  the  famous  Erl-Kiinig,  is 
preserved  in  Goethe's  works.  The  piece  was  repre- 
sented in  the  Tiefurt  park,  partly  on  the  bank  of  the 
Ilm  near   the    bridge,  partly  on  the  Ilm  itself,  which 

1  Goethe's  birthday. 


334  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

was  illuminated  with  numerous  torches  and  lamps. 
Under  lofty  alders  against  the  river  were  placed 
scattered  huts  of  fishermen ;  nets,  boats,  and  fishing 
implements  stood  around.  On  Dorten's  (Corona  Schro- 
ter)  hearth  fire  was  burning.  At  the  moment  in 
which  the  fishermen  who  had  been  called  together 
lighted  their  strips  of  wood  and  torches,  and  spread 
themselves  with  their  brilliant  lights  in  boats  and  on 
the  banks  of  the  river,  to  search  for  the  lost  maiden, 
the  light  flashed  suddenly  up  from  the  necks  of  land 
which  stretched  forward  into  the  Ilm,  illuminating 
the  nearest  objects,  and  showing  their  reflection  in  the 
water,  while  the  more  distant  groups  of  trees  and  hills 
lay  in  deep  night.  The  spectators  had  assembled  in 
great  numbers,  and  as  they  crowded  on  the  wooden 
bridge,  the  better  to  catch  the  magical  effect  of  the 
illumination  on  the  water,  their  weight  crushed  the 
bridge  in,  and  the  eager  gazers  fell  into  the  river.  No 
one,  however,  was  injured.  The  involuntary  bathers 
were  heartily  laughed  at,  and  the  accident  was  regarded 
as  an  amusing  interlude. 

I  find  further  that  when  a  travesty  of  the  "  Birds  " 
of  Aristophanes  was  performed  at  Ettersburg,  the 
actors  were  all  dressed  in  real  feathers,  their  heads 
completely  covered,  though  free  to  move.  Their 
wings  flapped,  their  eyes  rolled,  like  birds  in  a  panto- 
mime. It  is  right  to  add,  that  besides  these  extrava- 
gances and  omhres  chinoises,  there  were  very  serious 
dramatic  efforts :  among  them  we  find  Goethe's  sec- 
ond dramatic  attempt,  "  Die  Mitschuldigen,"  which  was 
thus  cast : 

Alceste        ....  Goethe 

Sbller  ....  Bertuch 

Der  Wirth  ....  Musilus 

Sophie         ....  Corona  Schroter. 

Another  play  was  the  "  Geschwister,"  written  in  three 
evenings,  it  is  said,  but  without  evidence,  out  of  love 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  335 

for  the  sweet  eyes  of  Amalia  Kotzebue,  sister  of  the 
dramatist,  then  a  youth.  Kotzebue  thus  touches  the 
X^oint  in  his  "  Memoirs : "  "  Goethe  had  at  that  time 
just  written  his  charming  piece,  '  Die  Geschwister.' 
It  was  performed  at  a  private  theatre  at  Weimar,  he 
himself  playing  WilHam  and  my  sister  Marianne, 
while  to  me  —  yes  to  me  —  was  allotted  the  important 
part  of  postihon  I  My  readers  may  imagine  with  what 
exultation  I  trod  the  stage  for  the  first  time  before  the 
mighty  public  itself."  Another  piece  was  Cumberland's 
"  West  Indian,"  in  which  the  duke  played  Major 
O'Flaherty ;  Eckhoff  (the  great  actor)  the  Father ;  and 
Goethe  Belcour,  dressed  in  a  white  coat  with  silver 
lace,  blue  silk  vest,  and  blue  silk  knee  breeches,  in 
which  they  say  he  looked  superb. 

While  mentioning  these  I  must  not  pass  over  the 
"  Iphigenia  "  (then  in  prose),  which  was  thus  cast : 


Orestes 

Goethe 

Pylacles 

Prince  Constantine 

Thoas 

Knebel 

A  rkas 

Seidler 

Iphigenia     . 

Corona  Schroter. 

"  Never  shall  I  forget,"  exclaims  Doctor  Hufeland, 
"  the  impression  Goethe  made  as  Orestes,  in  his  Grecian 
costume  ;  one  might  have  fancied  him  Apollo.  Never 
before  had  there  been  seen  such  union  of  physical  and 
intellectual  beauty  in  one  man  ! "  His  acting,  as  far 
as  I  can  learn,  had  the  ordinary  defects  of  amateur 
acting ;  it  was  impetuous  and  yet  stiff,  exaggerated  and 
yet  cold ;  and  his  fine  sonorous  voice  displayed  itself 
without  nice  reference  to  shades  of  meaning.  In 
comic  parts,  on  the  other  hand,  he  seems  to  have  been 
excellent ;  the  broader  the  fun,  the  more  at  home  he 
felt ;  and  one  can  imagine  the  rollicking  animal  spirits 
with  which  he  animated  the  Marktschreier  in  the 
"  Plundersweilern  ; "  one  can  picture  him  in  the  extrav- 


23^  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

agance  of  the  "  Geflickte  Braut,"  ^  giving  vent  to  his 
sarcasm  on  the  "  sentimental "  tone  of  the  age,  ridicul- 
ing his  own  "  Werther,"  and  merciless  to  "  Woldemar."  ^ 

I  have  thus  brought  together,  irrespective  of  dates, 
the  scattered  indications  of  these  theatrical  amuse- 
ments. How  much  enjoyment  was  produced  by  them ! 
what  social  pleasure !  and  what  endless  episodes,  to 
which  memory  recurred  in  after  times,  when  they  were 
seated  round  the  dinner-table !  Nor  were  these  amuse- 
ments profitless.  "  Wilhelm  Meister "  was  designed 
and  partly  written  about  this  period ;  and  the  reader, 
who  knows  Goethe's  tendency  to  make  all  his  works 
biographical,  will  not  be  surprised  at  the  amount  of 
theatrical  experience  which  is  mirrored  in  that  work ; 
nor  at  the  earnestness  which  is  there  made  to  lurk 
beneath  amusement,  so  that  what  to  the  crowd  seems 
no  more  than  a  flattery  of  their  tastes,  is  to  the  man 
himself  a  process  of  the  highest  culture. 

Boar-hunting  in  the  hght  of  early  dawn,  sitting  in 
the  middle  of  the  day  in  grave  diplomacy  and  active 
council,  rehearsing  during  the  afternoon,  and  enlivening 
the  evening  with  grotesque  serenades  or  torchlight 
sledgings  —  thus  passed  many  of  his  days ;  not  to 
mention  flirtations,  balls,  masquerades,  concerts,  and 
verse-writing.  The  muse  was,  however,  somewhat 
silent,  though  "  Hans  Sachs's  poetische  Sendung," 
"  Lih,"  some  charming  lyrics,  and  the  dramas  and 
operas  written  for  the  occasion,  forbid  the  accusation 
of  idleness.  He  was  storing  up  materials.  "  Faust," 
"  Egmont,"  "  Tasso,"  "  Iphigenia,"  and  "  Meister  "  were 
germinating. 

The   muse  was  silent,  but  was  the  soul  inactive? 

1  Published,  under  a  very  mitigated  form,  as  the  "  Triumph  der 
Emptiudaamkeit. "  See  the  uext  chapter  for  further  uotice  of 
this  piece. 

2.Jacobi  and  Wieland  were  both  seriously  offended  with  his 
parodies  of  their  writings ;  but  both  soon  became  reconciled  to 
him. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  337 

As  these  strange  and  variegated  scenes  passed  before 
his  eyes,  was  he  a  mere  actor,  and  not  also  a  spectator  ? 
Let  his  works  answer.  To  some  indeed  it  has  seemed 
as  if  in  thus  lowering  great  faculties  to  the  composi- 
tion of  sHght  operas  and  festive  pieces,  Goethe  was 
faithless  to  his  mission,  false  to  his  own  genius.  This 
is  but  a  repetition  of  Merck's  exclamation  against 
"  Clavigo,"  and  may  be  answered  as  that  was  answered. 
Herder  thought  that  the  Chosen  One  should  devote 
himself  to  great  works.  This  is  the  objection  of  a 
man  of  letters  who  can  conceive  no  other  aim  than 
the  writing  of  books.  But  Goethe  needed  to  live  as 
well  as  to  write.  Life  is  multiplied  and  rendered 
infinite  by  Feeling  and  Knowledge.  He  sought  both 
to  feel  and  to  know.     The  great  works  he  has  written 

—  works  high  in  conception,  austerely  grand  in  execu- 
tion, the  fruits  of  earnest  toil  and  lonely  self-seclusion 

—  ought  to  shield  him  now  from  any  charge  of  wasting 
his  time  on  frivolities,  though  to  Herder  and  Merck 
such  a  point  of  view  was  denied. 

It  was  his  real  artistic  nature,  and  genuine  poetic 
mobility,  that  made  him  scatter  with  a  prodigal  hand 
the  trifles  which  distressed  his  friends.  Poetry  was 
the  melodious  voice  breathing  from  his  entire  man- 
hood ;  it  was  not  a  profession,  but  an  impulse ;  the 
sounding  chords  of  his  poetic  nature  vibrated  to  every 
touch,  grave  and  stately,  sweet  and  impassioned,  deUcate 
and  humourous.  He  wrote  not  for  Fame ;  he  wrote 
not  for  pence ;  he  wrote  poetry  because  he  had  lived 
it ;  and  "  sang  as  the  bird  sings  on  its  bough."  He 
sang  whatever  at  the  moment  filled  him  with  delight 

—  now  thrilling  a  careless  snatch  of  melody,  now  a 
simple  ballad,  now  a  majestic  hymn  ascending  from 
the  depths  of  his  soul  on  incense-bearing  rhythms,  and 
now  a  grave,  quiet  chaunt,  slow  with  its  rich  burden  of 
meanings.  Men  in  whom  the  productive  activity  is 
great  cannot  be  restrained  from  throwing  off  trifles. 


338  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

as  the  plant  throws  off  buds  beside  the  expanded 
flowers.  Michael  Angelo  carved  the  Moses,  and 
painted  the  ceiling  of  the  Sistine  Chapel,  but  did  he 
not  also  lend  his  master-hand  to  the  cutting  of  graceful 
cameos  ? 


CHAPTER   VI. 

MANY  -  COLOURED    THREADS. 

Hitherto  our  narrative  of  this  Weimar  period  has 
moved  mainly  among  geuerahties,  for  only  by  such 
means  could  a  picture  of  this  episode  be  painted. 
Now,  as  we  advance  further,  it  is  necessary  to  separate 
the  threads  of  his  career  from  those  of  others  with 
which  it  was  interwoven. 

It  has  already  been  noted,  that  he  began  to  tire  of 
the  follies  and  extravagances  of  the  first  months.  In 
this  year,  1777,  he  was  quiet  in  his  garden-house, 
occupied  with  drawing,  poetry,  botany,  and  love  for  the 
Frau  von  Stein.  Love  and  ambition  were  the  guides 
which  led  him  through  the  labyrinth  of  the  court. 
Amid  those  motley  scenes,  amid  those  swiftly  succeed- 
ing pleasures,  voices,  sorrowing  voices  of  the  Past 
made  themselves  audible  above  the  din,  and  recalled 
the  vast  hopes  which  once  had  given  energy  to  his 
aims ;  and  these  reverberations  of  an  ambition  once  so 
cherished,  arrested  and  rebuked  him,  like  the  deep 
murmurs  of  some  solemn  bass  moving  slowly  through 
the  showering  caprices  of  a  sportive  melody.  No  soul 
can  long  endure  uninterrupted  gaiety  and  excitement. 
Weary  intervals  will  occur :  the  vulgar  soul  fills  these 
intervals  with  the  long  lassitude  of  its  ennui ;  the  noble 
soul  with  reproaches  at  the  previous  waste  of  irrevoca- 
ble hours. 

The  quiet  influence  exercised  by  the  Frau  von  Stein 
is  visible  in  every  page  of  his  letters.     As  far  as  I  can 

339 


340  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

divine  the  state  of  things  in  the  absence  of  her  letters, 
I  fancy  she  coquetted  with  him ;  when  he  showed  any 
disposition  to  throw  off'  her  yoke,  when  his  manner 
seemed  to  imply  less  warmth,  she  lured  him  back  with 
tenderness ;  and  vexed  him  with  unexpected  coldness 
when  she  had  drawn  him  once  more  to  her  feet.  "  You 
reproach  me,"  he  writes,  "  with  alternations  in  my  love. 
It  is  not  true ;  but  it  is  well  that  I  do  not  every  day 
feel  how  utterly  I  love  you."  Again :  "  I  cannot  con- 
ceive why  the  main  ingredients  of  your  feeling  have 
lately  been  Doubt  and  want  of  Belief.  But  it  is 
certainly  true  that  one  who  did  not  hold  firm  his  affec- 
tion might  have  that  affection  doubted  away,  just  as  a 
man  may  be  persuaded  that  he  is  pale  and  ill."  That 
she  tormented  him  with  these  coquettish  doubts  is  but 
too  evident ;  and  yet  when  he  is  away  from  her  she 
writes  to  tell  him  that  he  is  become  dearer !  "  Yes, 
my  treasure ! "  he  replies,  "  I  believe  you  when  you 
say  your  love  increases  for  me  during  absence.  When 
away,  you  love  the  idea  you  have  formed  of  me ;  but 
when  present,  that  idea  is  often  disturbed  by  my  folly 
and  madness.  ...  I  love  you  better  when  present 
than  when  absent :  hence  I  conclude  my  love  is  truer 
than  yours."  At  times  he  seems  himself  to  have 
doubted  whether  he  really  loved  her,  or  only  loved 
the  dehght  of  her  presence. 

With  these  doubts  mingles  another  element,  his 
ambition  to  do  something  which  will  make  him  worthy 
of  her.  In  spite  of  his  popularity,  in  spite  of  his 
genius,  he  has  not  subdued  her  heart,  but  only  agitated 
it.  He  endeavours,  by  devotion,  to  succeed.  Thus 
love  and  ambition  play  into  each  other's  hands,  and 
keep  him  in  a  seclusion  which  astonishes  and  pains 
several  of  those  who  could  never  have  enough  of  his 
company. 

In  the  June  of  this  year  his  solitude  was  visited  by 
one  of  the  agitations  he  could  least  withstand  —  the 


li 


////;/  cacii  i^iiii  iLiuu'incss 
.!•  II nj  from  the  drawiivj  '      "'     I'ritdrich 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  341 

death  of  his  only  sister,  Cornelia.  Sorrows  and  dreams, 
is  the  significant  entry  of  the  following  day  in  his 
journal. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  he  undertook  the  care 
of  Peter  Imbaumgarten,  a  Swiss  peasant  boy,  the 
prot^g^  of  his  friend  Baron  Liudau.  The  death  of 
the  baron  left  Peter  once  more  without  protection. 
Goethe,  whose  heart  was  open  to  all,  especially  to 
children,  gladly  undertook  to  continue  the  baron's 
care ;  and  as  we  have  seen  him  sending  home  an 
Italian  image-boy  to  his  mother  at  Frankfort,  and 
Wilhelm  Meister  undertaking  the  care  of  Mignon  and 
Eelix,  so  does  this  "  cold  "  Goethe  add  love  to  charity, 
and  become  a  father  to  the  fatherless. 

The  autumn  tints  were  beginning  to  mingle  their 
red  and  yellow  w^ith  the  dark  and  solemn  firs  of  the 
Ilmenau  mountains.  Goethe  and  the  duke  could  not 
long  keep  away  from  the  loved  spot,  where  poetical 
and  practical  schemes  occupied  the  day,  and  many  a 
wild  prank  startled  the  night.  There  they  danced 
with  peasant  girls  till  early  daw' n ;  one  result  of  which 
was  a  swelled  face,  forcing  Goethe  to  lay  up. 

On  his  return  to  Weimar  he  was  distressed  by  the 
receipt  of  one  of  the  many  letters  which  "  Werther " 
drew  upon  him.  He  had  made  sentimentality  poetical ; 
it  soon  became  the  fashion.  Many  were  the  melan- 
choly youths  who  poured  forth  their  sorrows  to  him, 
demanding  sympathy  and  consolation.  Nothing  could 
be  more  antipathetic  to  his  clear  and  healthy  nature. 
It  made  him  ashamed  of  his  "  Werther."  It  made 
him  merciless  to  all  Wertherism.  To  reHeve  himself 
of  the  annoyance,  he  commenced  the  satirical  extrava- 
ganza of  the  "  Triumph  der  Empfindsamkeit."  Very 
significant,  however,  of  the  unalterable  kindliness  of 
his  disposition  is  the  fact,  that  although  these  senti- 
mentalities had  to  him  only  a  painful  or  a  ludicrous 
aspect,  he  did  not  suffer  his  repugnance  to  the  malady 


342  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

to  destroy  his  sympathy  for  the  patient.  There  is  a 
proof  of  this  in  the  episode  he  narrates  of  his  Harz 
journey,  made  in  November  and  December  of  this 
year,^  known  to  most  readers  through  his  poem,  "  Die 
Harzreise  im  Winter."  The  object  of  that  journey 
was  twofold :  to  visit  the  Ilmenau  mines,  and  to  visit 
an  unhappy  misanthrope  whose  Wertherism  had  dis- 
tressed him.  He  set  out  with  the  duke,  who  had 
arranged  a  hunting  party  to  destroy  "  a  great  thing  of 
a  boar "  then  ravaging  the  country  round  Eisenach ; 
but,  although  setting  out  with  them,  he  left  them  en 
route,  for  purposes  of  his  own. 

Through  hail,  frost,  and  mud,  lonely,  yet  com- 
panioned by  great  thoughts,  he  rode  along  the  moun- 
tainous solitudes,  and  reached  at  last  the  Brocken.  A 
bright  sun  shone  on  its  eternal  snows  as  he  mounted 
and  looked  down  upon  the  cloud-covered  Germany 
beneath  him.  Here  he  felt  the  air  of  freedom  swell 
his  breast.  The  world  with  its  conventions  lay  be- 
neath him ;  the  court  with  its  distractions  was  afar ; 
and  the  poet  stood  amidst  these  snowy  sohtudes  com- 
muning with  that  majestic  spirit  of  beauty  which 
animates  Nature.     There,  — 

"...  high  above  the  misty  air 
And  turbulence  of  murmuring  cities  vast,"  —  ^ 

he  was  lost  in  reveries  of  his  future  life : 

"  Dem  Geier  gleich 
Der  auf  schweren  Morgenwolken, 
Mit  sanftem  Fittig  ruhend, 
Nach  Beute  schaut, 
Schwebe  mein  Lied." 

This  image  of  the  hawk  poised  above  the  heavy 
morning  clouds  looking  for  his  prey,  is  (I  adopt  his 

lAnd  not  iu  1776,  as  he  says;   that  date  is  disproved  by  his 
letters  to  the  Frau  vou  Stein. 
2  Wordsworth. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  343 

own  explanation)  that  of  the  poet  on  the  snowy  heights 
looking  down  on  the  winter  landscape,  and  with  his 
mind's  eye  seeking  amidst  the  perplexities  of  social 
life  for  some  object  worthy  of  his  muse. 

Writing  to  his  beloved,  he  speaks  of  the  good  effect 
this  journeying  amid  simple  people  (to  whom  he  is 
only  known  as  Herr  Weber,  a  landscape-painter)  has 
upon  his  imagination.  It  is  like  a  cold  bath,  he  says. 
And  apropos  of  his  disguise,  he  remarks  how  very 
easy  it  is  to  be  a  rogue,  and  what  advantages  it  gives 
you  over  simple  honest  men  to  assume  a  character  that 
is  not  your  own. 

But  now  let  us  turn  to  the  second  object  of   his 
journey.     The  letter  of  the  misanthrope  just  aUuded 
to  was  signed  Plessing,  and  dated  from  Wernigerode. 
There  was  something  remarkable  in  the  excess  of  its 
morbidity,  accompanied  by  indications  of  real  talent. 
Goethe  did  not  answer   it,  having  already  hampered 
himself   in  various   ways  by  responding  to  such  ex- 
traneous demands  upon  his   sympathy;   another  and 
more    passionate   letter    came    imploring    an    answer, 
which  was  still  silently  avoided.     But  now  the  idea 
of  personally  ascertaining  what    manner  of   man  his 
correspondent  was  made  him  swerve  from  his  path; 
and  under  his  assumed  name  he  called  on  Plessing. 

On  hearing  that  his  visitor  came  from  Gotha,  Pless- 
ing eagerly  inquired  whether  he  had  not  visited 
Weimar,  and  whether  he  knew  the  celebrated  men 
who  lived  there.  With  perfect  simpUcity  Goethe 
replied  that  he  did,  and  began  talking  of  Kraus, 
Bertuch,  Musaus,  Jagemann,  etc.,  when  he  was  impa- 
^  tiently  interrupted  with  "But  why  don't  you  men- 
tion Goethe  ? "  He  answered  that  Goethe  also  had  he 
seen ;  upon  this  he  was  called  upon  to  give  a  descrip- 
tion of  that  great  poet,  which  he  did  in  a  quiet  way, 
sufficient  to  have  betrayed  his  incognito  to  more 
sagacious  eyes. 


344  LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

Plessing  then  with  great  agitation  informed  him 
that  Goethe  had  not  answered  a  most  pressing  and 
passionate  letter  in  which  he,  Plessing,  had  described 
the  state  of  his  mind,  and  had  implored  direction  and 
assistance.  Goethe  excused  himself  as  he  best  could ; 
but  Plessing  insisted  on  reading  him  the  letters,  that 
he  might  judge  whether  they  deserved  such  treatment. 
He  listened,  and  tried  by  temperate,  sympathetic 
counsel  to  wean  Plessing  from  his  morbid  thoughts  by 
fixing  them  on  external  objects,  especially  by  some 
active  employment.  These  were  impatiently  rejected, 
and  he  left  him,  feeling  that  the  case  was  almost 
beyond  help. 

He  was  subsequently  able  to  assist  Plessing,  who, 
on  visiting  him  at  Weimar,  discovered  his  old  ac- 
quaintance, the  landscape-painter.i  g^t  the  charac- 
teristic part  of  this  anecdote  —  and  that  which  makes 
me  cite  it  here  —  is  the  practical  illustration  it  gives 
of  his  fundamental  realism,  which  looked  to  nature 
and  earnest  activity  as  the  sole  cure  for  megrims, 
sentimentahsms,  and  self-torturings.  Turn  your  mind 
to  realities,  and  the  self-made  phantoms  which  darken 
your  soul  will  disappear  like  night  at  the  approach  of 
dawn. 

In  the  January  of  the  following  year  (1778)  Goethe 
was  twice  brought  face  to  face  with  death.  The  first 
was  during  a  boar-hunt :  his  spear  snapped  in  the  on- 
slaught, and  he  was  in  imminent  peril,  but  fortunately 
escaped.      On  the  following  day,   while  he  and    the 

iln  1788,  Plessing  was  appointed  professor  of  philosophy  in 
the  University  of  Diiisburg,  where  Goethe  visited  him  on  his  re- 
turn home  from  the  campaign  in  France,  17!t2.  The  reader  may 
be  interested  to  know  that  Plessing  entirely  outlived  his  morbid 
melancholy,  and  gained  a  respectable  name  in  German  letters. 
His  principal  works  are  "Osiris  und  Socrates,"  178;i  ;  "  Ilisto- 
rische  und  Philosophische  Untersuchungcn  iiber  die  Denkart, 
Theologie  und  PhiIoso])hie  der  iiltesten  Volker,"  1785;  and 
"Memnonium,  oder  Versuche  zur  Enthiillung  der  Geheimnisse 
des  Alterthums,"  1787.     He  died  1806. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS   OF  GOETHE  345 

duke  were  skating  (perhaps  talking  over  yesterday's 
escape),  there  came  a  crowd  over  the  ice,  bearing  the 
corpse  of  the  unhappy  Friiuleiu  von  Lassberg,  who,  in 
the  despair  of  unrequited  love,  had  drowned  herself  in  the 
II m,  close  by  the  very  spot  where  Goethe  was  wont  to 
take  his  evening  walk.  At  all  times  this  would  have 
been  a  shock  to  him,  but  the  shock  was  greatly  intensi- 
tied  by  the  fact  that  in  the  pocket  of  the  unfortunate 
girl  was  found  a  copy  of  "  Werther  ! "  ^  It  is  true  we 
never  reproach  an  author  in  such  cases.  No  reflecting 
man  ever  reproached  Plato  with  the  suicide  of  Cleom- 
brotus,  or  Schiller  with  the  brigandage  of  highwaymen. 
Yet  when  fatal  coincidences  occur,  the  author,  whom 
we  absolve,  cannot  so  lightly  absolve  himself.  It  is 
in  vain  to  argue  that  the  work  does  not,  rightly  con- 
sidered, lead  to  suicide  ;  if  it  does  so,  wrongly  considered, 
it  is  a  proximate  cause ;  and  the  author  cannot  easily 
shake  off  that  weight  of  blame.  Goethe,  standing 
upon  logic,  might  have  said :  "  If  Plato  instigated  the 
suicide  of  Cleombrotus,  certainly  he  averted  that  of 
Olympiodorus ;  if  I  have  been  one  of  the  many  causes 
wliich  moved  this  girl  toward  that  fatal  act,  I  have 
also  certainly  been  the  cause  of  saving  others,  notably 
that  young  Frenchman  who  wrote  to  thank  me."  He 
might  have  argued  this ;  but  Conscience  is  tenderer 
than  Logic  ;  and  if  in  firing  at  a  wild  beast  I  kill 
a  brother  hunter,  my  conscience  will  not  leave  me 
altogether  in  peace. 

The  body  was  borne  to  the  house  of  the  Frau  von 
Stein,  which  stood  nearest  the  spot,  and  there  he 
remained  with  it  the  whole  day,  exerting  himself  to 
console  the  wretched  parents.  He  himself  had  need 
of  some  consolation.  The  incident  affected  him  deeply, 
and  led  him  to  speculate  on  all  cognate  subjects,  espe- 

1  Rieiner,  who  will  never  admit  anythinc:  that  may  seem  to  tell 
against  his  idol,  endeavours  to  throw  a  doubt  on  this  fact,  saying 
it  was  reported  only  out  of  malice.     But  he  gives  no  reasons. 


346  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

daily  on  melancholy.  "  This  inviting  sadness,"  he 
beautifully  says,  "  has  a  dangerous  fascination,  like  water 
itself,  and  we  are  charmed  by  the  reflex  of  the  stars  of 
heaven  which  shines  through  both." 

He  was  soon,  however,  "forced  into  theatrical  levity  " 
by  the  various  rehearsals  necessary  for  the  piece  to  be 
performed  on  the  birthday  of  the  duchess.  This  was 
the  "  Triumph  der  Empfindsamkeit."  The  adventure 
with  Plessing,  and  finally  the  tragedy  of  the  Fraulein 
von  Lassberg,  had  given  increased  force  to  his  antago- 
nism against  Wertherism  and  Sentimentality,  which  he 
now  lashed  with  unsparing  ridicule.  The  hero  of  his 
extravaganza  is  a  prince,  whose  soul  is  only  fit  for 
moonlight  ecstasies  and  sentimental  rhapsodies.  He 
adores  Nature ;  not  the  rude,  rough,  imperfect  Nature 
whose  gigantic  energy  would  alarm  the  sentimental 
mind ;  but  the  beautiful  rose-pink  Nature  of  books. 
He  likes  Nature  as  one  sees  it  at  the  opera.  Eocks 
are  picturesque,  it  is  true ;  but  they  are  often  crowned 
with  tiaras  of  snow,  sparkling,  but  apt  to  make  one 
"  chilly ; "  turbulent  winds  howl  through  their  clefts 
and  crannies,  alarming  to  dehcate  nerves.  The  prince 
is  not  fond  of  the  winds.  Sunrise  and  early  morn  are 
lovely  —  but  damp;  and  the  prince  is  hable  to 
rheumatism. 

To  obviate  all  such  inconveniences  he  has  had  a 
mechanical  imitation  of  Nature  executed  for  his  use ; 
and  this  accompanies  him  on  his  travels ;  so  that  at  a 
moment's  notice,  in  secure  defiance  of  rheumatism,  he 
can  enjoy  a  moonlight  scene,  a  sunny  landscape,  or  a 
sombre  grove. 

He  is  in  love ;  but  his  mistress  is  as  factitious  as 
his  landscapes.  Woman  is  charming  but  capricious, 
fond  but  exacting ;  and  therefore  the  prince  has  a  doll 
dressed  in  the  same  style  as  the  woman  he  once  loved. 
P>y  the  side  of  this  doll  he  passes  hours  of  rapture ;  for 
it  he  sighs  ;  for  it  he  rhapsodises. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  347 

The  real  woman  appears  —  the  original  of  that  much 
treasured  image.  Is  he  enraptured  ?  Not  in  the  least. 
His  heart  does  not  palpitate  in  her  presence ;  he 
does  not  recognise  her;  laiL  tlirows  him.sclf  once  more 
into  the  arms  of  his  doll,  and  thus  sensibility  tri- 
umphs. 

There  are  five  acts  of  this  "  exquisite  fooling." 
Originally  it  was  much  coarser  and  more  personal  than 
we  now  see  it.  Bcittiger  says  that  there  remains 
scarcely  a  shadow  of  its  flashing  humour  and  satiric 
caprice.  The  whip  of  Aristophanes  was  applied  with 
powerful  wrist  to  every  fashionable  folly,  in  dress, 
literature,  or  morals,  and  the  spectators  saw  themselves 
as  in  a  mirror  of  sarcasm.  At  the  conclusion,  the  doll 
was  ripped  open,  and  out  fell  a  multitude  of  books,  such 
as  were  then  the  rage,  upon  which  severe  and  ludi- 
crous judgments  were  passed  —  and  the  severest  upon 
"  Werther."  The  whole  piece  was  interspersed  with 
ballets,  music,  and  comical  changes  of  scene ;  so  that 
what  now  appears  a  tiresome  farce,  was  then  an  irre- 
sistible extravaganza. 

This  extravaganza  has  the  foolery  of  Aristophanes, 
and  the  physical  fun  of  that  riotous  wit,  whom  Goethe 
was  then  studying.  But  when  critics  are  in  ecstasies 
with  its  wit  and  irony,  I  confess  myself  at  a  loss  to 
conceive  clearly  what  they  mean.  National  wit,  how- 
ever, is  perhaps  scarcely  amenable  to  criticism.  What 
the  German  thinks  exquisitely  ludicrous,  is  to  a  French- 
man, or  an  Englishman,  often  of  mediocre  mirthfulness. 
Wit  re(iuires  delicate  hamlhng ;  the  Germans  generally 
touch  it  with  gloved  hands.  Sarcasm  is  with  them 
too  often  a  sabre,  not  a  rapier,  hacking  the  victim  where 
a  thrust  would  suffice.  It  is  a  noticeable  fact  that, 
amid  all  the  riches  of  their  literature,  they  have  little 
that  is  comic  of  a  high  order.  They  have  produced 
no  Comedy.  To  them  may  be  applied  the  couplet  of 
the  great  original  of  Grotesque  Seriousness  : 


348  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

"  Kci)fJ.u}5o5i8a<7 KoKlav  elvai.  xtt^cT'^TaTOj'  epyov  awdvTwv, 
noXXtDv  yap  5i}  ireipaffdvro)!'  avrrjv  dXiyoL^  x'^P^^^'^^^''-'''  ^ 

Which  I  will  venture  to  turn  thus : 

'<  Miss  Comedy  is  a  sad  flirt,  —  you  may  guess 
From  the  number  who  comt  lier,  the  few  she  doth  bless." 

1  Aristophanes,  "Equites,"  v.  516. 


CHAPTER   Vn. 

THE    REAL    PHILANTHROPIST. 

A  STRANGE  phantasmagoria  is  the  life  he  leads  at 
this  epoch.  His  employments  are  manifold,  yet  his 
studies,  his  drawing,  etching,  and  rehearsing  are  carried 
on  as  if  they  alone  were  the  occupation  of  the  day. 
His  immense  activity,  and  power  of  varied  employ- 
ment, scatter  the  energies  which  might  be  consecrated 
to  some  great  work ;  but  in  return,  they  give  him  the 
varied  store  of  material  of  which  he  stood  so  much  in 
need.  At  this  time  he  is  writing  "  Wilhelm  Meister  " 
and  "  Egmont ; "  "  Iphigenia  "  is  also  taking  shape  in 
his  mind.  His  office  gives  him  much  to  do ;  and 
Gervinus,  who  must  have  known  how  great  were  the 
calls  upon  his  time,  should  have  paused  ere  he  threw 
out  the  insinuation  of  "diplomatic  rudeness"  when 
Goethe  answered  one  of  his  brother-in-law's  letters 
through  his  secretary.  Surely  with  a  brother-in-law 
one  may  take  such  latitude  ?  ^ 

This  man,  whose  diplomatic  coldness  and  aristocratic 
haughtiness  have  formed  the  theme  of  so  many  long 
tirades,  was  of  all  Germans  the  most  sincerely  demo- 
cratic, until  the  Reign  of  Terror  iu  France  frightened 
him,  as  it  frightened  others,  into  more  modified  opin- 

1  Since  the  text  was  written,  the  correspondence  with  the  Frau 
V.  Stein  has  appeared;  and  from  it  we  learn  that  iu  Switzerland  he 
even  dictated  some  letters  to  her.  It  could  not  have  been  "diplo- 
matic rudeness,"  inasmuch  a.s  lie  usually  wrote  to  the  duke  himself 
through  his  amanuensis. 

349 


350  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

ions.  Not  only  was  he  always  delighted  to  be  with  the 
people,  and  to  share  their  homely  ways,  which  were 
consonant  with  his  own  simple  tastes;  but  we  find 
him  in  the  confidence  of  intimacy  expressing  his  sym- 
pathy with  the  people  in  the  heartiest  terms.  When 
among  the  miners  he  writes  to  his  beloved,  "How 
strong  my  love  has  returned  upon  me  for  these  lower 
classes !  which  one  calls  the  lower,  but  which  in  God's 
eyes  are  assuredly  the  highest !  Here  you  meet  all  the 
virtues  combined :  Contentedness,  Moderation,  Truth, 
Straightforwardness,  Joy  in  the  slightest  good,  Harm- 
lessness,  Patience  —  Patience  —  Constancy  in  —  in 
....  I  will  not  lose  myself  in  panegyric ' "  Again, 
he  is  writing  "  Iphigenia,"  but  the  news  of  the  misery 
and  famine  among  the  stocking-weavers  of  Apolda 
paralyses  him.  "  The  drama  will  not  advance  a  step  : 
it  is  cursed ;  the  King  of  Tauris  must  speak  as  if  no 
stocking-weaver  in  Apolda  felt  the  pangs  of  hunger ! " 

In  striking  contrast  stands  the  expression  of  his 
contempt  for  what  was  called  the  great  world,  as  he 
watched  it  in  his  visits  to  the  neighbouring  courts. 
If  affection  bound  him  to  Karl  August,  whom  he  was 
forming,  and  to  Luise,  for  whom  he  had  a  chivalrous 
regard,  his  eyes  were  not  blind  to  the  nullity  of  other 
princes  and  their  followers.  "  Good  society  have  I 
seen,"  runs  one  of  his  epigrams ;  "  they  call  it  the 
'  good '  whenever  there  is  not  in  it  the  material  for 
the  smallest  of  poems." 

"  Gute  Gesellschaft  hab'  ich  gesehen ;  man  nennt  sie  die  gute 
Wenn  sie  zum  kleinsten  Gedicht  keine  Gelegenheit  giebt." 

Notably  was  this  the  case  in  his  journey  with  the 
duke  to  P>erlin,  May,  1778.  He  only  remained  a 
few  days  there ;  smn  much,  and  not  without  contempt. 
"  I  have  got  quite  close  to  old  Fritz,  having  seen  his 
way  of  life,  his  gold,  his  silver,  his  statues,  his  apes, 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  35 > 

his  parrots,  aud   lieard   his  own   curs   twaddle   about 
the  gi-eat  mau."     Potsdam  and  Ikrliu  were  noisy  with 
preparations  for  war.     The  great  king  was  absent ;  but 
Prince  Henry  received  the  poet  in  a  friendly  manner, 
and  invited  hira  and  Karl  August  to  dinner.     At  table 
there  were  several  generals ;  but  CJoethe,  who  kept  his 
eyes  open,  sternly  kept  his  mouth  closed.     He  seems 
to  have  felt  no  little  contempt  for  the  Prussian  court 
and  its  great  men,  who  appeared  very  small  men  in 
his  eyes.     "  I  have  spoken  no  word   in  the  Prussian 
dominions  which  might  not  be  made  pubhc.     There- 
fore I  am  called  haughty  and  so  forth."     Varnhagen 
intimates  that  the  ill-will  he  excited  by  not  visiting 
the  literati,  and  by  his  reserve,  was   so  great  as  to 
make  him  averse  from  hearing  of  his  visit  in   after 
years.^     What  indeed,  as  Varnhagen  asks,  had  Goethe 
in  common  with  Nicolai,  Ramler,  Eugel,  Zellner,  aud 
the  rest  ?     He  did  visit  the  poetess  Karschin  and  the 
artist  Chodowiecki ;  but  from  the  rest  he  kept  aloof. 
Berlin  was  not  a  city  in  which  he  could  feel  himself 
at  home;  and  he  doubtless  was  fully  aware  of  the 
small   account  in   which   he  was  held   by  Frederick, 
whose  admiration  lay  in  quite  other  directions.     AVhat 
culture  the  king  had  was  French,  and  his  opinion  of 
German  literature  had  been  very  explicitly  pronounced 
in  a  work  published  this  year,  in   which  "  Gcitz  von 
Berlichingen "  was  cited  as  a  sample  of  the  reigning 
bad  taste.     The  passage  is  too  curious  to  be  omitted. 
«  Vous  y  verrez  representer  les  abominables  pieces  de 
Shakespeare  traduites  en  notre  langue,  et  tout  I'auditoire 
se  pamer  d'aise  en  entendant  ces  farces  ridicules,  et 
dignes  des  sauvages  de   Canada"     That  certainly  was 
afflicting  to   "le   bon   gout;"    but   that    was   not  the 
worst.     Shakespeare  might  be  pardoned  for  his  faults, 
"  car  la  naissance  des  arts  n'est  jamais  le  point  de  leur 
maturity.     Mais  voila  encore  un  Gtitz  de  Berlichingen 
1  Varnhagen  von  Ense  :  "  Vermischte  Schriften,"  iii.  p.  02. 


352  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

qui  parait  sur  la  scene,  imitation  detestable  de  ces 
mauvaises  pieces  anglaises,  et  le  parterre  applaudit  et 
demande  avec  enthousiasme  la  r^p^tition  de  ces  cle- 
goUtantes  platitudes  !  "  ^ 

Thus  the  two  German  emperors,  Fritz  and  Wolfgang, 
held  no  spiritual  congress ;  perhaps  no  good  result 
could  have  been  elicited  by  their  meeting.  Yet  they 
were,  each  in  his  own  sphere,  the  two  most  potent 
men  then  reigning.  Fritz  did  not  directly  assist  the 
literature  of  his  country,  but  his  indirect  influence  has 
been  indicated  by  Griepenkerl.^  He  awoke  the  Ger- 
mans from  their  sleep  by  the  rolling  of  drums ;  those 
who  least  liked  the  clang  of  arms  or  the  "  divisions  of 
a  battle-field,"  were  nevertheless  awakened  to  the  fact 
that  something  important  was  going  on  in  life,  and 
they  rubbed  their  sleepy  eyes,  and  tried  to  see  a  little 
into  that.  The  roll  of  drums  had  this  merit,  at  all 
events,  that  it  drew  men  from  their  library  table  to 
the  window,  and  so  made  them  look  out  upon  the 
moving,  living  world  of  action,  wherein  the  erudite 
might  see  a  considerable  sensation  made  even  by  men 
unable  to  conjugate  a  Greek  verb  in  "  fu."  ^ 

On  returning  to  Weimar,  Goethe  occupied  himself 
with  various  architectural  studies,  a  2^'>'opos  of  the 
rebuilding  of  the  palace ;  and  commenced  those  altera- 
tions in  the  park,  which  resulted  in  the  beautiful  dis- 
tribution formerly  described.  But  I  pass  over  many 
details  of  his  activity,  to  narrate  an  episode  which 
must  win  the  heart  of  every  reader.     In  these  pages 

1 "  De  la  Litt^rature  AUemande,"  p.  46.  His  opinion  of  the 
newly  discovered  Niebelungen  Lied  was  no  less  characteristically 
contemptuous  :  he  declared  he  would  not  give  such  rubbish  house- 
room. 

^Griepenkerl :  "  Der  Kunstgenius  der  Deutschen  Literatur  des 
letzten  Jahrhunderts,"  i.  p.  52. 

3  Doctor  George  has  become  famous  (or  did  become  so  —  for, 
alas  !  what  is  fame  ?)  by  his  shrewd  suspicion  that  Frederick  with 
all  his  victories  could  not  accomplish  thai  feat  of  intellectual 
vigour.     Many  men  still  measure  greatness  by  verbs  in  ^t. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  353 

it  has  been  evident,  I  hope,  that  no  compromise  with 
the  truth  has  led  me  to  gloss  over  faults,  or  to  conceal 
shortcomings.  All  that  testimony  warrants  I  have 
reproduced :  good  and  evil,  as  in  the  mingled  yarn  of 
life.  Faults  and  deficiencies,  even  grievous  errors,  do 
not  estrange  a  friend  from  our  hearts ;  why  should 
they  lower  a  hero  ?  Why  should  the  biographer  fear 
to  trust  the  tolerance  of  human  sympathy  ?  Why 
labour  to  prove  a  hero  faultless  ?  The  reader  is  no 
valet  de  chamhre  incapable  of  crediting  greatness  in 
a  robe  de  chamhre.  Never  forget  the  profound  saying 
of  Hegel  in  answer  to  the  vulgar  aphorism  ("  No  man 
is  a  hero  to  his  valet  de  chamhre ") ;  namely,  "  This 
is  not  because  the  Hero  is  no  Hero,  but  because  the 
Valet  is  a  Valet."  ^  Having  trusted  to  the  effect  which 
the  true  man  would  produce,  in  spite  of  all  drawbacks, 
—  and  certain  that  the  true  man  was  lovable  as  well 
as  admirable,  I  have  made  no  direct  appeal  to  the 
reader's  sympathy,  nor  tried  to  make  out  a  case  in 
favour  of  extraordinary  virtue. 

But  the  tribute  of  affectionate  applause  is  claimed 
now  we  have  arrived  at  a  passage  in  his  life  so  char- 
acteristic of  the  dehcacy,  generosity,  and  nobility  of 
his  nature,  that  it  is  puzzling  and  painful  to  me  to 
contemplate  any  one  not  loving  him,  after  reading 
it.  Of  generosity,  in  the  more  ordinary  sense,  there 
are  abundant  examples  in  his  history.  Riemer  has 
instanced  several,^  but  these  are  acts  of  kindness, 
thoughtfuluess,  and  courtesy,  such  as  one  expects  to 
find  in  a  prosperous  poet.  That  he  was  kind,  gave 
freely,  sympathised  freely,  acted  disinterestedly,  and 
that  his  kindness  showed  itself  in  trifles  quite  as  much 


1 "  Nicht  aber  darum  weil  dieser  kein  Held  ist,  sondern  weil 
jener  der  Kanimerdiener  ist."  —  Philosophie  der  Geschichte,  p.  40. 
Goethe  repeated  thi.s  as  an  epigram  ;  and  Carlyle  has  wrought  it 
into  the  minds  of  hundreds  ;  but  Hegel  is  the  originator. 

*  "  Mittheilungeu,"  vol.  i.  102-5. 


354  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

as  in  important  actions  (a  most  significant  trait  ^)  is 
known  to  all  persons  moderately  acquainted  with  Ger- 
man literature.  But  the  disposition  exhibited  in  the 
story  I  am  about  to  tell  is  such  as  few  persons  would 
have  imagined  to  be  lying  beneath  the  stately  pru- 
dence and  calm  self-mastery  of  the  man  so  often  styled 
"  heartless." 

This  is  the  story :  A  man  (his  name  still  remains 
a  secret)  of  a  strange,  morbid,  suspicious  disposition 
had  fallen  into  destitution,  partly  from  unfortunate 
circumstances,  partly  from  his  own  fault.  He  applied 
to  Goethe  for  assistance,  as  so  many  others  did ;  and 
he  painted  his  condition  with  all  the  eloquence  of 
despair. 

"According  to  the  idea  I  form  of  you  from  your 
letters,"  writes  Goethe,  "  I  fancy  I  am  not  deceived, 
and  this  to  me  is  very  painful,  in  believing  that  I 
cannot  give  help  or  hope  to  one  who  needs  so  much. 
But  I  am  not  the  man  to  say,  '  Arise,  and  go  further.' 
Accept  the  little  that  I  can  give,  as  a  plank  thrown 
toward  you  for  momentary  succour.  If  you  remain 
longer  where  you  are,  I  will  gladly  see  that  in  future 
you  receive  some  slight  assistance.  In  acknowledging 
the  receipt  of  this  money,  pray  inform  me  how  far 
you  can  make  it  go.  If  you  are  in  want  of  a  dress, 
greatcoat,  boots,  or  warm  stockings,  tell  me  so ;  I  have 
some  that  I  can  spare. 

"  Accept  this  drop  of  balsam  from  the  compendious 
medicine-chest  of  the  Samaritan,  in  the  same  spirit  as 
it  is  offered." 

1  There  is  lamentable  confusion  in  our  estimate  of  character  on 
this  point  of  generosity.  "We  often  mistake  a  spasm  of  sensibility 
for  the  strength  of  lovingness  ;  we  take  an  occasional  act  of  kind- 
ness as  the  sign  of  a  kind  nature.  Benj.  Constant  says  of  him- 
self :  "  Je  puis  faire  de  bonnes  et  fortes  actions;  je  ne  puis  avoir  de 
bons  procM^s.'^  There  are  hundreds  like  him.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  are  hundreds  wlio  willingly  perform  many  little  acts  of  kind- 
ness and  courtesy,  but  who  never  rise  to  the  dignity  of  generosity  ; 
these  are  poor  natures,  ignorant  of  the  grander  throbbings. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  355 

'  This  was  on  the  2d  of  November,  1778.  On  the 
11th  he  writes  again,  and  from  the  letter  we  see  that 
he  had  resolved  to  do  more  than  throw  a  momentary- 
plank  to  the  shipwrecked  man  —  in  fact,  he  had 
undertaken  to  support  him. 

"  In  this  parcel  you  will  receive  a  greatcoat,  boots, 
stockings,  and  some  money.  My  plan  for  you  this 
winter  is  this: 

"  In  Jena  living  is  cheap.  I  will  arrange  for  board 
and  lodging,  etc.,  on  the  strictest  economy,  and  will  say- 
it  is  for  some  one  who,  with  a  small  pension,  desires 
to  live  in  retirement.  When  that  is  secured  I  will 
write  to  you;  you  can  then  go  there,  establish  your- 
self in  your  quarters,  and  I  will  send  you  cloth  and 
lining,  with  the  necessary  money,  for  a  coat,  which 
you  can  get  made,  and  I  wiU  inform  the  rector  that 
you  were  recommended  to  me,  and  that  you  wish  to 
live  in  retirement  at  the  university. 

"  You  must  then  invent  some  plausible  story,  have 
your  name  entered  on  the  books  of  the  university, 
and  no  soul  will  ever  inquire  more  about  you,  neither 
Burgomaster  nor  Amtmann.  /  have  not  sent  you  one 
of  my  coats,  because  it  might  he  recognised  in  Jena. 
Write  to  me  and  let  me  know  what  you  think  of  this 
plan,  and  at  aU  events  in  what  character  you  propose 
to  present  yourself." 

The  passage  in  italics  indicates  great  thoughtfulness. 
Indeed  the  whole  of  this  correspondence  shows  the 
most  tender  consideration  for  the  feelings  of  his 
prot^g^.  In  the  postscript  he  says:  "And  now  step 
boldly  forth  again  upon  the  path  of  life !  We  live  but 
once.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  know  perfectly  what  it  is  to  take 
the  fate  of  another  upon  one's  own  shoulders,  but  you 
shall  not  perish  ! "     On  the  23d  he  writes : 

"  I  received  to-day  your  two  letters  of  the  17th  and 
18th,  and  have  so  far  anticipated  their  contents  as  to 
have  caused  inquiry  to  be  made  in  Jena  for  the  fullest 


3S6  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

details,  as  for  one  who  wished  to  hve  there  under  the 
quiet  protection  of  the  university.  Till  the  answer 
arrives  keep  quiet  at  Gera,  and  the  day  after  to-morrow 
I  will  send  you  a  parcel  and  say  more. 

"  Believe  me,  you  are  not  a  burden  on  me ;  on 
the  contrary,  it  teaches  me  economy ;  /  fritter 
away  much  of  ray  income  which  I  inight  spare  for 
those  in  want.  And  do  you  think  that  your  tears  and 
blessings  go  for  nothing  ?  He  ivho  has  must  give,  not 
bless;  and  if  the  Great  and  the  Rich  have  divided 
between  them  the  goods  of  this  world,  Fate  has  counter- 
balanced these  by  giving  to  the  wretched  the  powers  of 
blessing,  powers  to  which  the  fortunate  know  7iot  how 
to  aspire." 

Noble  words !  In  the  mouth  of  a  pharisaical  phil- 
anthropist declaiming  instead  of  giving,  there  would  be 
something  revolting  in  such  language ;  but  when  we 
know  that  the  hand  which  wrote  these  words  was 
"  open  as  day  to  melting  charity,"  when  we  know  that 
(in  spite  of  all  other  claims)  he  gave  up  for  some  years 
the  sixth  part  of  his  very  moderate  income  to  rescue 
this  stranger  from  want,  when  we  know  by  the  irre- 
fragable argument  of  deeds,  that  this  language  was  no 
hollow  phrase,  but  the  deep  and  solemn  utterance  of  a 
thoroughly  human  heart,  then  these  words  awaken 
reverberations  within  our  hearts,  calling  up  feehngs  of 
loving  reverence  for  him  who  uttered  them. 

How  wise  and  kind  is  this  also :  "  Perhaps  there 
will  soon  turn  up  occasions  for  you  to  be  useful  to  me 
where  you  are,  for  it  is  not  the  Project-maker  and 
Proniiser,  but  he  who  in  trifles  affords  real  service, 
that  is  welcome  to  one  who  would  so  willingly  do 
something  good  and  enduring. 

"  Hate  not  the  poor  philanthropists  with  their  pre- 
cautions and  conditions,  for  one  need  pray  diligently 
to  retain,  amid  such  bitter  experience,  the  good-will, 
courage,  and  levity  of  youth,  which  are  the  main  ingre- 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  357 

dients  of  benevolence.  And  it  is  more  than  a  bene6t 
which  God  bestows  when  he  calls  us,  who  can  so  sel- 
dom do  anything  to  hghten  the  burden  of  one  truly 
wretched." 

The  next   letter,   dated   December    11th,   explains 

itself : 

"  Your  letter  of  the  7th  I  received  early  this  morning. 
And  first,  to  calm  your  mind :  you  shall  be  forced  to 
nothingr;  the  hundred  dollars  you  shall  have,  live 
where  you  may ;  but  now  listen  to  me. 

"  I  know  that  to  a  man  his  ideas  are  reahties ;  and 
although  the  image  you  have  of  Jena  is  false,  still  I 
know  that  nothing  is  less  easily  reasoned  away  than 
such  hypochondriacal  anxieties.  I  think  Jena  the  best 
place  for  your  residence,  and  for  many  reasons.  The 
university  has  long  lost  its  ancient  wildness  and  aris- 
tocratic prejudices ;  the  students  are  not  worse  than  in 
other  places,  and  among  them  there  are  some  charm- 
ing people.  In  Jena,  they  are  so  accustomed  to  the 
flux  and  reflux  of  men  that  no  iiidi\ddual  is  remarked. 
And  there  are  too  many  living  in  excessively  straitened 
means,  for  poverty  to  be  either  a  stigma  or  a  noticeable 
peculiarity.  Moreover,  it  is  a  city  where  you  can  more 
easily  procure  all  necessities.  In  the  country  during 
winter,  ill,  and  without  medical  advice,  would  not  that 
be  miserable  ? 

"  Further,  the  people  to  whom  I  referred  you  are 
good  domestic  people,  who,  on  my  account,  would  treat 
you  well.  Whatever  might  occur  to  you,  I  should  be 
in  a  condition,  one  way  or  another,  to  assist  you.  I 
could  aid  you  in  establishing  yourself ;  need  only  for 
the  present  guarantee  your  board  and  lodging,  and  pay 
for  it  later  on.  I  could  give  you  a  little  on  New  Year's 
Day,  and  procure  what  was  necessary  on  credit.  You 
would  be  nearer  to  me.  Every  market  day  I  could 
send  you  something  —  wine,  victuals,  utensils  that 
would  cost  me  little,  and  would  make  your  existence 


358  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

more  tolerable  ;  and  I  could  thus  make  you  more  a  part 
of  my  household  expenses.  The  objection  to  Gera  is, 
that  communication  with  it  is  so  difficult ;  things  do  not 
arrive  at  proper  times,  and  cost  money  which  benefits 
no  one.  You  would  probably  remain  six  months  in 
Jena  before  any  one  remarked  your  presence.  This  is 
the  reason  why  I  preferred  Jena  to  every  other  place, 
and  you  would  do  the  same  if  you  could  but  see  things 
with  untroubled  vision.  How,  if  you  were  to  make  a 
trial  ?  However,  I  know  a  fly  can  distract  a  man  with 
sensitive  nerves,  and  that,  in  such  cases,  reasoning  is 
powerless. 

"  Consider  it :  it  will  make  all  things  easier.  I 
promise  you,  you  will  be  comfortable  in  Jena.  But  if 
you  cannot  overcome  your  objections,  then  remain  in 
Gera.  At  New  Year  you  shall  have  twenty-five  dol- 
lars, and  the  same  regularly  every  quarter.  I  cannot 
arrange  it  otherwise.  I  must  look  to  my  own  house- 
hold demands ;  that  which  I  have  given  you  already, 
because  I  was  quite  unprepared  for  it,  has  made  a  hole, 
which  I  must  stop  up  as  I  can.  If  you  were  in  Jena, 
I  could  give  you  some  httle  commissions  to  execute 
for  me,  and  perhaps  some  occupation ;  I  could  also 
make  your  personal  acquaintance,  and  so  on.  But  act 
just  as  your  feelings  dictate ;  if  my  reasons  do  not  con- 
vince you,  remain  in  your  present  solitude.  Commence 
the  writing  of  your  life,  as  you  talk  of  doing,  and  send 
it  me  piecemeal,  and  be  persuaded  that  I  am  only 
anxious  for  your  quiet  and  comfort,  and  choose  Jena 
simply  because  I  could  there  do  more  for  you." 

The  hypochondriacal  fancies  of  the  poor  man  were 
invincible ;  and  instead  of  going  to  Jena  he  went  to 
Ilmenau,  where  Goethe  secured  him  a  home,  and  sent 
him  books  and  money.  Having  thus  seen  to  his 
material  comforts,  he  besought  him  to  occupy  his 
mind  by  writing  out  the  experience  of  his  life,  and 
what   he  had    observed    on   his  travels.     In  the  fol- 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  359 

lowing  letter  he  refers  to  his  other  proteg^,  Peter 
Imbaumgarten : 

"I  am  very  glad  the  contract  is  settled.  Your 
maintenance  thus  demands  a  hundred  dollars  yearly, 
and  I  will  guarantee  the  twenty-five  dollars  quarterly, 
and  contrive  also  that  by  the  end  of  this  month  you 
shall  receive  a  regular  allowance  for  pocket-money.  I 
will  also  send  what  I  can  in  natura,  such  as  paper, 
pens,  sealing-wax,  etc.  Meanwhile  here  are  some 
books. 

"  Thanks  for  your  news ;  continue  them.  The  wish 
to  do  good  is  a  bold,  proud  wish ;  we  must  be  thank- 
ful when  we  can  secure  even  a  little  bit.  I  have  now 
a  proposition  to  make.  When  you  are  in  your  new 
quarters  I  wish  you  would  pay  some  attention  to  a  boy 
whose  education  I  have  undertaken,  and  who  learns 
the  huntsman's  craft  in  Ilmenau.  He  has  begun 
French ;  could  you  not  assist  him  in  it  ?  He  draws 
nicely ;  could  you  not  keep  him  at  it  ?  I  will  fix 
the  hours  when  he  should  come  to  you.  You  would 
lighten  my  anxiety  about  him  if  you  could  by  friendly 
intercourse  ascertain  the  condition  of  his  mind,  and 
inform  me  of  it ;  and  if  you  could  keep  an  eye  upon 
his  progress.  But  of  course  this  depends  on  your  feel- 
ing disposed  to  undertake  such  a  task.  Judging  from 
myself  —  intercourse  with  children  always  makes  me 
feel  young  and  happy.  On  hearing  your  answer,  I 
will  write  more  particulars.  You  will  do  me  a  real 
service,  and  I  shall  he  able  to  add  monthly  the  trifle 
which  I  have  set  aside  for  the  hoy's  education.  I  trust 
I  shall  still  be  able  to  lighten  your  sad  condition,  so 
that  you  may  recover  your  cheerfulness." 

Let  me  call  attention  to  the  deUcacy  with  which 
he  here  intimates  that  he  does  not  mean  to  occupy 
Kraft's  1  time  without  remunerating  it.     If  that  pas- 

1  Herr  Kraft  was  the  assumed  name  of  this  still  anonymous 
prot^gd. 


360  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

sage  be  thoroughly  considered,  it  will  speak  as  much 
for  the  exquisite  kindness  of  Goethe's  nature  as  any 
greater  act  of  liberality.  Few  persons  would  have 
considered  themselves  unentitled  to  ask  such  a  service 
from  one  whose  existence  they  had  secured.  To  pay 
for  it  would  scarcely  have  entered  their  thoughts.  But 
Goethe  felt  that  to  demand  a  service,  which  might  be 
irksome,  would,  in  a  certain  way,  be  selling  benevo- 
lence; if  he  employed  Kraft's  time,  it  was  right  that 
he  should  pay  what  he  would  have  paid  another  mas- 
ter. On  the  other  hand  he  instinctively  shrank  from 
the  indelicacy  of  making  a  decided  bargain.  It  was 
necessary  to  intimate  that  the  lessons  would  be  paid 
for;  but  with  that  intimation  he  also  conveyed  the 
idea  that,  in  undertaking  such  a  task,  Kraft  would  be 
conferring  an  obligation  upon  him  ;  so  that  Kraft  might 
show  his  gratitude,  might  benefit  his  benefactor,  and 
nevertheless  be  benefited.  After  reading  such  a  sen- 
tence, I  could,  to  use  Wieland's  expression, "  have  eaten 
Goethe  for  love  ! " 

Kraft  accepted  the  charge ;  and  Goethe  having  sent 
him  some  linen  for  shirts,  some  cloth  for  a  coat,  and 
begged  him  to  write  without  the  least  misgiving,  now 
sends  this  letter : 

"  Many  thanks  for  your  care  of  Peter ;  the  boy 
greatly  interests  me,  for  he  is  a  legacy  of  the  unfortu- 
nate Lindau.  Do  him  all  the  good  you  can  quietly. 
How  you  may  advance  him !  I  care  not  whether  he 
reads,  draws,  or  learns  French,  so  that  he  does  occupy 
his  time,  and  I  hear  your  opinion  of  him.  For  the 
present,  let  him  consider  his  first  object  is  to  acquire 
the  huntsman's  craft,  and  try  to  learn  from  him  how 
he  likes  it,  and  how  he  gets  on  with  it.  For,  beheve 
me,  man  must  have  a  trade  which  will  support  him. 
The  artist  is  never  paid ;  it  is  the  artisan.  Chodo- 
wiecki,  the  artist  whom  we  admire,  would  eat  but 
scanty  mouthfuls ;  but  Chodowiecki,  the  artisan,  who 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  3^1 

with  his  woodcuts  iUumines  the  most  miserable  daubs, 

^%'n  f  subsequent  letter  he  says :  "  Many  thanks      By 
vour  attention  to  these  things,  and  your  care  of  Feter, 
YOU  have  performed  true  service  for  me,  and  richly 
repaid  all  that  I  may  have  been  able  to  do  for  you     Be 
under  no  anxiety  about  the  future,  there  will  certamly 
occur  opportunities  wherein  you  can  be  useful  to  me , 
meanwhde,  continue  as  heretofore."     This  was  writ  en 
on    the    very  day  of  his  return  to  Weimar  from  the 
Swiss  journey!     If  this  teHs  us  of  his  attention  to 
his  prot^g^,  the  next  letter  tells   us    of    his   antici- 
pating even  the  casualty  of   death,  for   he  had  put 
Kraft  on  the  list  of  those  whom  he  left  as  legacies 
of   benevolence    to    his    friends.      It    should    be    re- 
marked that  Goethe  seems  to  have  preserved  protouud 
secrecy  with  respect  to  the  good  he  was  then  domg ; 
not   even   in    his    confidential    letters   to    Frau   von 
Stein    is    there    one    hint   of    Kraft's  existence      In 
short,  nothing  is  wanting   to  complete  the   cnrcle   ot 

genuine  benevolence.  t  ir    i^>o 

The  year  1781  began  with  an  increase  of  Kratts 
pension ;  or  rather,  instead  of  paying  a  hundred  dollars 
for  his  board  and  lodging,  and  allowmg  him  pocket- 
money,  he  made  the  sum  two  hundred  dollars.  i 
can  spare  as  much  as  that ;  and  you  need  not  be  anx- 
ious about  every  trifle,  but  can  lay  out  your  money  as 
you  please.  Adieu ;  and  let  me  soon  hear  that  all  your 
sorrows  have  left  you."  This  advance  seems  to  have 
ehcited  a  demand  for  more  money,  which  produced  the 
following  characteristic  answer : 

«  You  have  done  well  to  disclose  the  whole  condi- 
tion of  your  mind  to  me;  I  can  make  all  allowances 
little  as  I  may  be  able  to  calm  you  completely.  My 
own  affairs  will  not  permit  me  to  promise  you  a  tar- 
thincT  more  than  the  two  hundred  dollars,  unless  I  were 
to  get  into  debt,  which  in  my  place  would  be  very 


362  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

unseemly.      This   sum   you    shall    receive    regularly. 
Try  to  make  it  do. 

"  I  certainly  do  not  suppose  that  you  will  change 
your  place  of  residence  without  my  knowledge  and 
consent.  Every  man  has  his  duty  ;  make  a  duty  of 
your  love  to  me  and  you  will  find  it  light. 

"  It  would  be  very  disagreeable  to  me  if  you  were 
to  horrow  from  any  one.  It  is  precisely  this  miserable 
unrest  now  troubhng  you  which  has  been  the  misfor- 
tune of  your  whole  life,  and  you  have  never  been  more 
contented  with  a  thousand  dollars  than  you  now  are 
with  two  hundred:  because  you  always  still  desired 
something  which  you  had  not,  and  have  never  accus- 
tomed your  soul  to  accept  the  hmits  of  necessity.  I 
do  not  reproach  you  with  it ;  I  know,  unhappily  too 
well,  how  it  pertains  to  you,  and  feel  how  painful  must 
be  the  contrast  between  your  present  and  your  past. 
But  enough !  One  word  for  a  thousand :  at  the  end 
of  every  quarter  you  shall  receive  fifty  dollars ;  for  the 
present  an  advance  shall  be  made.  Limit  your  wants : 
the  Must  is  hard,  and  yet  solely  by  this  Must  can  we 
show  how  it  is  with  us  in  our  inner  man.  To  live 
according  to  caprice  requires  no  peculiar  powers."  ^ 

The  following  explains  itself : 

"  If  you  once  more  read  over  my  last  letter  you  will 
see  plainly  that  you  have  misinterpreted  it.  You  are 
neither  fallen  in  my  esteem,  nor  have  I  a  lad  opinion  of 
you,  neither  have  I  suffered  my  good  opinion  to  be  led 
astray,  nor  has  your  mode  of  thinking  become  damaged 
in  my  eyes  :  all  these  are  exaggerated  expressions,  such 
as  a  rational  man  should  not  permit  himself.  Because 
I  speak  out  my  thoughts  with  freedom,  because  I  wish 
certain  traits  in  your  conduct  and   views   somewhat 

1 1  will  give  the  original  of  this  fine  saying,  as  I  have  rendered  it 
but  clumsily  :  Dass  Muss  ist  hart,  aber  beim  Muss  kann  der 
Mensch  allein  zeigen  wie's  inwendig  mit  ihm  steht.  Willkiirlich 
leben  kann  jeder. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  3^3 

different,  does  that  mean  that  I  look  on  you  as  a  « 
man,  and  that  I  wish  to  discontinue  our  relations? 

«  it  is  these  hypochondriacal,  weak,  and  exaggerated 
notions,  such  as  your   last    letter   contains,    which    1 
hlame  and  regret.     Is  it  proper  that  you  should  say  to 
me  •  /  am  to  prescribe  the  tone  in  which  all  your  future 
letters  must  he  written?     Does  one  command  an  hon- 
ourable, rational  man  such  things  as  that  ?     Is  it  in- 
aenuous  in  you  on  such  an  occasion  to  underli7ie^  the 
words  that  you  eat  my  bread  ?     Is  it  becommg  m   a 
moral  being   when  one  gently  blames  him,  or  names 
something  hi  him  as  a  malady,  to  fly  out  as  if  one  had 
pulled  the  house  about  his  ears  ?     Do  not  misconstrue 
me,  therefore,  if  I  wish  to  see  you  contented  and  satis- 
fied with  the  httle  I  can  do  for  you.     So,  if  you  will, 
things  shall  remain  just  as  they  were ;  at  all  events, 
I  shall  not  change  my  behaviour  toward  you 

The  unhappy  man  seems  to  have  been  brought  to 
a  sense  of  his  injustice  by  this,  for  although  there  is 
but  one  more  letter,  bearing  the  date  1783,  that  is,  two 
years  subsequent  to  the  one  just  given,  the  connection 
lasted  for  seven  years.     When  Goethe  undertook   to 
write  the  life  of  Duke  Bernhard,  he  employed   Kraft 
to  make  extracts  for  him  from  the  Archives ;  which 
extracts,  Luden,  when  he  came  to  look  over  them  with 
a  biographical  purpose,  found  utterly  worthless.^     The 
last  words  we  find  of  Goethe's  addressed  to  Kraft  are, 
"  You  have  already  been  of  service  to  me,  and  other 
opportunities  will  offer.     I  have  no  grace  to  dispense 
and  my  favour  is  not  so  fickle.     Farewell,  and  enjoy 
your  httle  in  peace."     It  was  terminated  only  by  the 
death  of  the  poor  creature  in  1785.     Goethe  biiried 
him  at  his  own  expense,  but  even  to  the  Jena  officials 
he  did  not  disclose  Kraft's  real  name. 

1  ^pp  T.uden's  "  Ruckblicke  in  mein  Leben." 
.1  Team  this  fro.n  a  letter  to   the  judge   at  Jena,  which  waB 
exhibited  at  the  Goethe  Ausstellung  m  Berlin,  1801. 


364  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

To  my  apprehension  these  letters  reveal  a  nature  so 
exquisite  in  far-thoughted  tenderness,  so  true  and 
human  in  its  sympathies  with  suffering,  and  so  ready 
to  alleviate  suffering  by  sacrifices  rarely  made  to  friends, 
much  less  to  strangers,  that,  after  reading  them,  the 
epithets  of  "  cold "  and  "  heartless,"  often  applied  to 
Goethe,  sound  hke  blasphemies  against  the  noblest 
feelings  of  humanity.  Observe,  this  Kraft  was  no 
romantic  object  appealing  to  the  sensibility ;  he  had 
no  thrilling  story  to  stimulate  sympathy ;  there  was 
no  subscription  list  opened  for  him ;  there  were  no 
coteries  weeping  over  his  misfortunes.  Unknown, 
unfriended,  ill  at  ease  with  himself  and  with  the  world, 
he  revealed  his  wretchedness  in  secret  to  the  great 
poet,  and  iii  secret  that  poet  pressed  his  hand,  dried 
his  eyes,  and  ministered  to  his  wants.  And  he  did 
this  not  as  one  act,  not  as  one  passing  impulse,  but  as 
the  sustained  sympathy  of  seven  years. 

Pitiful  and  pathetic  is  the  thought  that  such  a  man 
can,  for  so  many  years,  both  in  his  own  country  and 
in  ours,  have  been  reproached,  nay,  even  vituperated,  as 
cold  and  heartless !  A  certain  reserve  and  stiffness 
of  manner,  a  certain  soberness  of  old  age,  a  want  of 
political  enthusiasm,  and  some  sentences  wrenched 
from  their  true  meaning,  are  the  evidences  whereon 
men  build  the  strange  hypothesis  that  he  was  an  Olym- 
pian Jove  sitting  above  Humanity,  seeing  life  but  not 
feeling  it,  his  heart  dead  to  all  noble  impulses,  his 
career  a  calculated  egotism !  How  it  was  that  one  so 
heartless  became  the  greatest  poet  of  modern  times  — 
how  it  was  that  he  whose  works  contained  the  widest 
compass  of  human  hfe  should  himself  be  a  bloodless, 
pulseless  diplomatist  —  no  one  thought  of  explaining, 
till  Menzel  arose,  and  with  unparalleled  effrontery  main- 
tained that  Goethe  had  no  genius,  but  only  talent,  and 
that  the  miracle  of  his  works  lies  in  their  style  —  a 
certain  adroitness  in  representation.     Menzel  is  a  man 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  365 

SO  completely  rejected  by  England  —  the  translation 
of  his  work  met  with  such  hopeless  want  of  encour- 
agement, that  I  am  perhaps  wrong  to  waste  a  line  upon 
it ;  but  the  bold  style  in  which  his  trenchant  accusa- 
tions are  made,  and  the  assumption  of  a  certain  manli- 
ness as  the  momentum  to  his  sarcasms,  have  given  his 
attacks  on  Goethe  a  circulation  independent  of  his 
book.  To  me  he  appears  radically  incompetent  to 
appreciate  a  poet.  I  should  as  soon  think  of  asking 
the  first  stalwart  Kentish  farmer  for  his  opinion  on 
the  Parthenon.  The  farmer  would  doubtless  utter 
some  energetic  sentences  expressing  his  sense  of  its 
triviality ;  but  the  coarse  energy  of  his  language  would 
not  supply  the  place  of  knowledge,  feeling,  and  taste ; 
nor  does  the  coarse  energy  of  Menzel's  style  supply 
those  deficiencies  of  nature  and  education  which  inca- 
pacitate him  for  the  perception  of  Art. 

The  paradox  still  remains,  then,  in  spite  of  Menzel : 
a  great  poet  destitute  of  the  feelings  which  poetry 
incarnates  —  a  man  destitute  of  soul  giving  expression 
to  all  the  emotions  he  has  not  —  a  man  who  wrote 
"  Werther,"  "Egmont,"  "Faust,"  "Hermann  und  Doro- 
thea," and  "  Meister,"  yet  knew  not  the  joys  and  sor- 
rows of  his  kind ;  will  any  one  defend  that  paradox  ?  ^ 
Not  only  that  paradox,  but  this  still  more  inexphcable 
one,  that  all  who  knew  Goethe,  whether  they  were  his 
peers  or  his  servants,  loved  him  only  as  lovable  natures 
can  be  loved.  Children,  women,  clerks,  professors, 
poets,  princes  —  all  loved  him.  Even  Herder,  bitter 
against  every  one,  spoke  of  him  with  a  reverence 
which  astonished  Schiller,  who  writes :  "  He  is  by 
many  besides  Herder  named  with  a  species  of  devotion, 

1 1  remember  once,  as  we  were  walking  along  Piccadilly,  talking 
about  the  infamous  "  Buchleiu  von  Goethe,"  Carlyle  stopped  sud- 
denly, and  with  his  peculiar  look  and  emphasis,  said,  "Yes,  it  is 
the  wild  cry  of  amazement  on  the  part  of  all  spooneys  that  the 
Titan  was  not  a  spooney  too  !  Here  is  a  godlike  intellect,  and  yet 
you  see  he  is  not  an  idiot !     Not  in  the  least  a  spooney  !  " 


366  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

and  still  7nore  loved  as  a  man  than  admired  as  an 
author.  Herder  says  he  has  a  clear,  universal  mind, 
the  truest  and  deepest  feeling,  and  the  greatest  purity 
of  heart."  ^  Men  might  learn  so  much  from  his  works, 
had  not  the  notion  of  his  coldness  and  indifference  dis- 
turbed their  judgment.  "In  no  line,"  says  Carlyle, 
"  does  he  speak  with  asperity  of  any  man,  scarcely  of 
anything.  He  knows  the  good  and  loves  it ;  he  knows 
the  bad  and  hateful  and  rejects  it ;  but  in  neither  case 
with  violence.  His  love  is  calm  and  active ;  his  rejec- 
tion implied  rather  than  pronounced." 

And  Schiller,  when  he  came  to  appreciate  by  daily 
intercourse  the  qualities  of  his  great  friend,  thus  wrote 
of  him :  "  It  is  not  the  greatness  of  his  intellect  which 
binds  me  to  him.  If  he  were  not  as  a  man  more  ad- 
mirable than  any  I  have  ever  known,  I  should  only  mar- 
vel at  his  genius  from  the  distance.  But  I  can  truly 
say  that  in  the  six  years  I  have  lived  with  him,  I  have 
never  for  one  moment  been  deceived  in  his  character. 
He  has  a  high  truth  and  integrity,  and  is  thoroughly 
in  earnest  for  the  Right  and  the  Good  ;  hence  all  hypo- 
crites and  phrase  makers  are  uncomfortable  in  his 
presence."  And  the  man,  of  whom  Schiller  could 
think  thus,  is  believed  by  many  to  have  been  a  selfish 
egotist,  "  wanting  in  the  higher  moral  feelings ! " 

But  so  it  is  in  life :  a  rumour,  originating  perhaps 
in  thoughtless  ignorance,  and  circulated  by  malice, 
gains  credence  in  the  face  of  probability,  and  then  no 
amount  of  evidence  suffices  to  dissipate  it.  There  is 
an  atmosphere  round  certain  names,  a  halo  of  glory  or 
a  halo  of  infamy ;  and  men  are  aware  of  the  halo  with- 
out seeking  to  ascertain  its  origin.  Every  public  man 
is  in  some  respects  mythical ;  and  fables  are  believed 
in  spite  of  all  the  contradictions  of  evidence.  It  is 
useless  to  hope  that  men  will  pause  to  inquire  into  the 
truth  of  what  they  hear  said  of  another,  before  accept- 
1  "  Brief  w.  mit  Kbrner,  i.  p.  136. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  367 

ing  and  repeating  it;  but  with  respect  to  Goethe, 
who  has  now  been  more  than  forty  years  in  his  grave, 
one  may  hope  that  evidence  so  strong  as  these  pages 
furnish  will  be  held  more  worthy  of  credence  than 
anything  which  gossip  or  ignorance,  misconception  or 
partisanship,  has  put  forth  without  proof. 


Book    the     Fifth 

1779  to   1793 


"  Wenn  sich  der  Most  auch  ganz  absurd  gebardet, 
Es  giebt  zuletzt  doch  noch  'uen  Wein." 

"  Von  jener  IMacht,  die  alle  Wesen  bindet, 
Befreit  der  Meiisch  sich  der  sich  iiberwindet." 

"  Postquam  me  experientia  docuit,  omnia,  qua?  in  communi 
vita  frequenter  occmTunt,  vana  et  futilia  esse  :  quum  videreni 
omnia,  a  quibus  et  qua?  timebam,  nihil  neqixe  boni  neque  mali 
in  se  habere,  nisi  quatenus  ab  iis  animus  movebatur  ;  con- 
stitui  tandem  inquirere,  an  aliquid  daretur  quod  verum  bonum 
et  sui  communicabile  asset,  et  a  quo  solo  rejectis  ceteris  omni- 
bus animus  afficeretur ;  imo  an  aliquid  daretur,  quo  invento 
et  acquisito  continua  ac  summa  in  seternum  fruerer  Isetitia." 

Spinoza. 


369 


CHAPTEE    I. 

NEW    BIKTH. 

The  changes  slowly  determining  the  evolution  of 
character,  when    from    the    lawlessness    of    Youth    it 
passes  into  the  clear  stability  of  Manhood,  resemble 
the  evolution  of  harmony  in  the  tuning  of  an  orchestra, 
when  from  stormy  discords,  wandering  in  pursuit  of 
concord,  all  the  instruments  gradually  subside  into  the 
true  key :  round  a  small  centre  the  hurrying  sounds 
revolve,  one  by  one  falling  into  that  centre,  and  increas- 
ing its  circle,  at  first  slowly,  and  afterward  with  ever- 
accelerated  velocity,  tQl  victorious  concord  emerges  from 
the  tumult.      Or  they  may  be  likened  to  the  gathering 
splendour  of  the  dawn,  as  at  first  slowly,  and  afterward 
with  silent  velocity,  it  drives  the  sullen  darkness  to  the 
rear,  and  with  a  tidal  sweep  of  light  takes  tranquil  posses^ 
sion  of  the  sky.    Images  such  as  these  represent  the  dawn 
of  a  new  epoch  in  Goethe's  life  ;  an  epoch  when  the  wan- 
derings of  an  excitable  nature  are  gi-adually  fallmg  more 
and  more  within  the  circle  of  law ;  when  aims,  before 
vacrue,  now  become  clear ;  when  in  the  recesses  of  his 
mSid  much  that  was  fluent  becomes  crystallised  by  the 
earnestness  which  gives  a  definite  purpose  to  his  life. 
All  men  of  genius  go  through  this  process  of  crystalli- 
sation.     Their  youth  is  disturbed  by  the  turbulence  of 
errors  and  of  passions  ;  if  they  outlive  these  errors,  they 
convert  them  into  advantages.      Just  as  the  sides  of 
great  mountain  ridges  are  rent  by  fissures  filled  with 
molten    rock,    which,    when    the   lava  cools,  act  like 
vast  supporting  ribs  strengthening  the  mountain  mass, 

371 


372  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

SO  iu  men  of  genius,  passions  first  rend,  and  after- 
ward buttress  life.  The  diamond,  it  is  said,  can  only 
be  polished  by  its  own  dust ;  is  not  this  symbolical  of 
the  truth  that  only  by  its  own  fallings-off  can  genius 
properly  be  taught  ?  And  is  not  our  very  walk,  as 
Goethe  says,  a  series  of  falls  ? 

He  was  now  (1779)  entering  his  thirtieth  year.  Life 
slowly  emerged  from  the  visionary  mists  through  which 
hitherto  it  had  been  seen ;  the  solemn  earnestness  of 
manhood  took  the  place  of  the  vanishing  thoughtless- 
ness of  youth,  and  gave  a  more  commanding  unity  to 
his  existence.  He  had  "  resolved  to  deal  with  Life  no 
longer  by  halves,  but  to  work  it  out  in  its  totality, 
beauty,  and  goodness  —  vom  Halben  zu  entwohnen,  und 
im  Ganzen,  Guten,  Schonen  rcsolut  zu  leben."  It  is  usu- 
ally said  that  the  residence  in  Italy  was  the  cause  of 
this  change ;  but  the  development  of  his  genius  was 
the  real  cause.  The  shghtest  acquaintance  with  the 
period  we  are  now  considering  suffices  to  prove  that 
long  before  he  went  to  Italy  the  change  had  taken 
place.^  An  entry  in  his  Diary  at  this  date  is  very 
significant :  "  Put  my  things  in  order,  looked  through 
my  papers,  and  burnt  aU  the  old  chips.  Other  times, 
other  cares !  Calm  retrospect  of  Life,  and  the  extrava- 
gances, impulses,  and  eager  desires  of  youth  ;  how  they 
seek  satisfaction  in  all  directions !  How  I  have  found 
delight,  especially  in  mysteries,  in  dark  imaginative  con- 
nections ;  how  I  only  half-seized  hold  of  Science,  and 
then  let  it  slip ;  how  a  sort  of  modest  self-complacency 
runs  through  all  I  wrote  ;  how  short-sighted  I  was  in 
divine  and  human  things ;  how  many  days  wasted  in 
sentiments  and  shadowy  passions ;  how  little  good  I 

^  The  Ducliess  Amalia  writincj  to  his  mother,  this  year,  says  : 
"Your  news  of  the  luarriafje  of  the  daughter  of  Mad.  La  Koche 
is  so  wonderful  that  it  baffles  reason.  I  showed  your  letter  to 
Doctor  Wolff  (Goethe),  but  the  court  life  has  so  softened  his  man- 
ners that  he  never  gnashed  his  teeth,  nor  even  swore,  but  shrugged 
his  shoulders  over  the  deplorable  adventure." 


LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE  373 

have  drawn  from  them,  and  now  the  half  of  life  is  over, 
I  find  myself  advanced  no  step  on  my  way,  but  stand 
here  as  one  who,  escaped  from  the  waves,  begins  to  dry 
himself  in  the  sun.  The  period  in  which  I  have  min- 
gled with  the  world,  since  October,  1775,  I  dare  not 
yet  trust  myself  to  look  at.  God  help  me  further,  and 
give  me  light,  that  I  may  not  so  much  stand  in  my 
own  way,  but  see  to  do  from  morning  tdl  evening  the 
work  which  Hes  before  me,  and  obtain  a  clear  concep- 
tion of  the  order  of  things ;  that  I  be  not  as  those  are 
who  spend  the  day  in  complaining  of  headache,  and 
the  night  in  drinking  the  wine  which  gives  the 
headache ! " 

There  is  something  quite  solemn  in  those  words. 
The  same  thought  is  expressed  in  a  letter  to  Lavater : 
"  The  desire  to  raise  the  pyramid  of  my  existence,  the 
basis  of  which  is  already  laid,  as  high  as  practicable  in 
the  air,  absorbs  every  other  desire,  and  scarcely  ever 
quits  me.  I  dare  not  longer  delay ;  I  am  already 
advanced  in  hfe,  and  perhaps  Death  will  break  in  at 
the  middle  of  my  work,  and  leave  the  Babylonic  tower 
incomplete.  At  least  men  shall  say  it  was  boldly 
schemed,  and  if  I  live,  my  powers  shall,  with  God's 
aid,  reach  the  completion."  And  iu  a  recently  pub- 
lished letter  to  the  duke,  he  says :  "  I  let  people 
say  what  they  will,  and  then  I  retire  into  my  old  for- 
tress of  Poetry  and  work  at  my  '  Iphigeuia.'  By  this 
I  am  made  sensible  that  I  have  been  treating  this 
heavenly  gift  somewhat  too  cavalierly,  and  there  is 
stni  time  and  need  for  me  to  become  more  economical 
if  ever  I  am  to  bring  forth  anything."  ^ 

No  better  index  of  the  change  can  be  named  than 
his  "  Iphigenia  auf  Tauris,"  written  at  this  period.  The 
reader  will  learn  with  some  surprise  that  this  wonderful 
poem  was  originally  written  in  prose.  It  was  the 
fashion  of  the  day.     "  Gotz,"  "  Egmont,"  "  Tasso,"  and 

1  "  Briefwechsel  zwischeu  Karl  August  und  Goethe,"  i.  11. 


374  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

"  Iphigenia,"  no  less  than  Schiller's  "  Eobbers,"  "  Fiesco," 
"  Kabale  und  Liebe,"  were  written  in  prose ;  and  when 
"  Iphigenia  "  assumed  a  poetic  form,  the  Weimar  friends 
were  disappointed  —  they  preferred  the  prose. 

This  was  part  of  the  mania  for  returning  to  Nature. 
Verse  was  pronounced  unnatural ;  although,  in  truth, 
verse  is  not  more  unnatural  than  song.  Song  is  to 
speech  what  poetry  is  to  prose ;  it  expresses  a  differ- 
ent mental  condition.  Impassioned  prose  approaches 
poetry  in  the  rhythmic  impulse  of  its  movements ;  as 
impassioned  speech  in  its  varied  cadences  also  ap- 
proaches the  intonations  of  music.  Under  great  emo- 
tional excitement  the  Arabs  give  their  language  a 
recognisable  metre,  and  almost  talk  poetry.  But  prose 
never  is  poetry,  or  is  so  only  for  a  moment ;  nor  is 
speech  song.  Schiller  learned  to  see  this,  and  we  find 
him  writing  to  Goethe,  "  I  have  never  before  been  so 
palpably  convinced  as  in  my  present  occupation  how 
closely  in  poetry  Substance  and  Form  are  connected. 
Since  I  have  begun  to  transform  my  prosaic  language 
into  a  poetic  rhythmical  one,  I  find  myself  under  a 
totally  different  jurisdiction  ;  even  many  motives  which 
in  the  prosaic  execution  seemed  to  me  to  be  perfectly 
in  place,  I  can  no  longer  use :  they  were  merely  good 
for  the  common  domestic  understanding ,  whose  organ 
prose  seems  to  he  ;  but  verse  absolutely  demands  refer- 
ence to  the  imagination,  and  thus  I  was  obliged  to 
become  poetical  in  many  of  my  motives." 

That  Goethe  should  have  fallen  into  the  sophism 
which  asserted  prose  to  be  more  natural  than  verse 
is  surprising.  His  mind  was  full  of  song.  To  the  last 
he  retained  the  faculty  of  singing  melodiously,  when 
his  prose  had  degenerated  into  comparative  feebleness. 
And  this  prose  "  Iphigenia  "  is  saturated  with  verses ; 
which  is  also  the  case  with  "  Egmont."  He  meant  to 
write  prose,  but  his  thoughts  instinctively  expressed 
themselves  in  verse.     The  critical  reader  will  do  well 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  375 

to  compare  the  prose  with  the  poetic  version.^  He  will 
not  only  see  how  frequent  the  verses  are,  but  how  few 
were  the  alterations  necessary  to  transform  the  prose 
drama  into  a  poem.  They  are  just  the  sort  of  touches 
which  elevate  poetry  above  prose.  Thus,  to  give  an 
example,  in  the  prose  he  says :  "  Unniitz  seyn,  ist  todt 
seyn  (To  be  useless  is  to  be  dead),"  which  thus  grows 
into  a  verse : 

"  Ein  iinnutz  Leben  ist  ein  friiher  Tod 
(A  life  not  useful  is  an  early  death)." 

Again,  in  the  speech  of  Orestes  (Act  II.  sc.  i.),  there  is 
a  fine  and  terrible  allusion  to  Clytemnestra,  "  Better 
die  here  before  the  altar  than  in  an  obscure  nook  where 
the  nets  of  murderous  near  relatives  are  placed."  In 
the  prose  tliis  allusion  is  not  clear  —  Orestes  simply 
says  "  the  nets  of  assassins."  ^ 

The  alterations  do  not  touch  the  substance  of  this 
drama ;  we  must  therefore  consider  it  a  product  of  the 
period  now  under  review ;  and  as  such  we  may  examine 
it  at  once. 

iSee  vol.  xxxiv.  of  the  edition  of  1840. 

3  Neither  Taylor  nor  Miss  Swanwick  appears  to  have  seized  the 
allusion.  One  translates  it,  "  by  the  knives  of  avenging  kindred ;  " 
the  other,  "where  near  hands  have  spread  assassination's  wily 
net:' 


CHAPTEE   II. 

IPHIGENIA. 

It  was  very  characteristic  in  Schlegel  to  call  "  Iphi- 
genia "  "an  echo  of  Greek  song  ; "  he  delighted  in  such 
rhetorical  prettinesses ;  but  that  German  scholars  should 
have  so  often  repeated  the  phrase,  and  should  have  so 
often  without  misgiving  declared  "  Iphigenia "  to  be 
the  finest  modern  specimen  of  Greek  tragedy,  is  truly 
surprising,  until  we  reflect  on  the  mass  of  flagrant 
traditional  errors  afloat  respecting  the  Greek  drama. 
For  a  long  while  the  Three  Unities  were  held  to  be  in- 
separable from  that  drama ;  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
in  several  plays  Unity  of  Time  is  obviously  disregarded, 
and  in  two  or  three  the  Unity  of  Place  is  equally  so. 
Again  there  was  the  notion  that  Comedy  and  Tragedy 
were  not  suffered  to  mingle  in  the  same  play ;  in  spite 
of  the  palpable  fact  of  ^schylus  and  Euripides  having 
mingled  them.  It  was  also  believed  that  Destiny  formed 
the  tragic-pivot ;  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  in  the  major- 
ity of  these  plays  Destiny  has  no  place,  beyond  what 
the  religious  conceptions  of  the  poets  must  of  necessity 
have  given  to  it ;  just  as  Christianity  must  of  necessity 
underhe  the  tragic  conceptions  of  Christian  poets. 

The  very  phrase  with  which  critics  characterise 
"  Iphigenia  "  is  sufficient  to  condemn  them.  They  tell 
us  it  has  "  all  the  repose  of  Greek  tragedy."  Consider 
it  for  a  moment :  Pepose  in  a  tragedy !  that  is  to  say, 
calmness  in  the  terrific  upheaving  of  volcanic  passions. 
Tragedy,  we  are  told  by  Aristotle,  acts  through  Terror 

376 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  377 

and  Pity,  awakening  in  our  bosoms  sympathy  with 
sutfering;  and  to  suppose  this  effect  can  be  accom- 
phshed  by  the  "  meditative  repose  which  breathes  from 
every  verse,"  is  tantamount  to  supposing  a  battle-song 
will  most  vigorously  stir  the  blood  of  combatants  if  it 
borrow  the  accents  of  a  lullaby. 

Insensibly  our  notions  of  Greek  art  are  formed  from 
sculpture;    and  hence,  perhaps,  this  notion  of  repose. 
But  acquaintance  with  the  drama  ought  to  have  pre- 
vented such  an  error,  and  taught  men  not  to  confound 
calmness  of  evolution  with  calmness  of  life.     The  un- 
agitated  simplicity  of  Greek  scenic  representation  lay 
in  the  nature  of  the  scenic  necessities ;  but  we  do  not 
call  the  volcano  cold,  because  the  snow  rests  on  its  top. 
Had  the  Greek  drama  been  exhibited  on  stages  hke 
those  of  modern  Europe,  and  performed  by  actors  with- 
out cothurnus  and  mask,  its  deep  agitations  of  passion 
would  have  welled  up  to  the  surface,  communicating 
responsive  agitations   to  the  form.     But   there  were 
reasons  why  this  could  not  be.     In  the  Grecian  drama, 
everything  was  on  a  scale  of  vastness  commensurate 
with  the  needs  of  an  audience  of  many  thousands  ;  and 
consequently  everything  was  disposed  in  masses  rather 
than  in  details ;  it  thus  necessarily  assumed  something 
of  the  sculpturesque  form,  threw  itself  into  magnificent 
groupings,  and,  with  a  view  to  its   effect,  adapted  a 
pecuhar  eurhythmic  construction.      It  thus  assumed 
slowness  of  movement,  because  it  could  not  be  rapid 
without  distortion.     If  the  critic  doubts  this,  let  him 
mount  on  stilts,  and,  bawling  through  a  speaking-trum- 
pet, try  what  he  can  make  of  Shakespeare;  he  will 
then  have  an  approximative  idea  of  the  restraints  laid 
upon  the  Grecian  actor,  who,  clothed  so  as  to  aggran- 
dise his  person,  and  speaking  through  a  resonant  mask, 
which  had  a  fixed  expression,   could   not  act,  in  our 
modern  sense  of  the  word,  but  could  only  declaim ;  he 
had  no  means  of  representing  the  fiuctuations  of  pas- 


378  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

sion,  and  the  poet  therefore  was  forced  to  make  him 
represent  passion  in  broad,  fixed  masses.  Hence  the 
movement  of  the  Greek  drama  was  necessarily  large, 
slow,  and  simple. 

But  if  we  pierce  beneath  scenic  necessities  and  attend 
solely  to  the  dramatic  life  which  pulses  through  the 
Grecian  tragedies,  what  sort  of  calmness  meets  us 
there  ?  Calmness  is  a  relative  word.  Polyphemus 
hurhng  rocks  as  schoolboys  throw  cherry-stones,  would 
doubtless  smile  at  our  riots,  as  we  smile  at  buzzing  flies  ; 
and  Moloch  howling  through  the  unfathomable  wilder- 
ness in  passionate  repentance  of  his  fall,  would  envy 
us  the  wildest  of  our  despair,  and  call  it  calmness. 
But  measured  by  human  standards,  I  know  not  whose 
sorrow  "  can  bear  such  emphasis "  as  to  pronounce 
those  pulses  calm  which  throb  in  the  "  Q^dipus,"  the 
"  Agamemnon,"  or  the  "  Ajax."  The  Labdacidau  Tale 
is  one  of  the  sombrest  threads  woven  by  the  Parcse. 

The  subjects  selected  by  the  Greek  dramatists  are 
almost  uniformly  such  as  to  call  into  play  the  darkest 
passions  :  madness,  adultery,  and  murder  in  "  Agamem- 
non ; "  revenge,  murder,  and  matricide  in  the  "  Choe- 
phorcB  ; "  incest  in  "  (Edipus  ; "  jealousy  and  infanticide 
in  "  Medea  ; "  incestuous  adultery  in  "  Hippolytus  ;  " 
madness  in  "  Ajax  ; "  and  so  on  throughout  the  series. 
The  currents  of  these  passions  are  for  ever  kept  in 
agitation,  and  the  alternations  of  pity  and  terror  close 
only  with  the  closing  of  the  scene.  In  other  words, 
in  spite  of  the  slowness  of  its  scenic  presentation,  this 
drama  is  distinguished  by  the  very  absence  of  the  re- 
pose which  is  pronounced  its  characteristic. 

Here  we  meet  with  the  first  profound  difference  sep- 
arating Goethe  from  the  Greek  dramatist.  The  repose 
which  was  forced  upon  the  Greek,  which  formed  one 
of  his  restraints,  as  the  hardness  of  the  marble  restrains 
the  sculptor,  Goethe  has  adopted  under  conditions 
which  did  not  force  him ;  while  the  repose,  which  the 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  379 

Greek  kept  only  at  the  surface,  Goethe  has  allowed  to 
settle  down  to  the  core.  In  what  was  accidental,  tem- 
poral, he  has  imitated  Greek  Art ;  in  the  one  essential 
characteristic  he  has  not  imitated  it.  Kacine,  so  un- 
justly treated  by  Sehlegel,  has  given  us  the  passionate 
life  of  the  Greek  Drama,  in  spite  of  his  Madame  Her- 
mione  and  Monsieur  Oreste ;  in  imitating  the  slow 
scenic  movement  he  has  also  imitated  the  dramatic 
agitation  of  the  under-current. 

Goethe's  "  Iphigenia,"  then,  we  must  cease  to  regard 
according  to  the  Grecian  standard.  It  is  a  German 
play.  It  substitutes  profound  moral  struggles  for  the 
passionate  struggles  of  the  old  legend.  It  is  not  Greek 
in  ideas  nor  in  sentiment.  It  is  German,  and  trans- 
ports Germany  of  the  eighteenth  century  into  Scythia 
during  the  mythic  age,  quite  as  absolutely  as  Eacine 
places  the  Court  of  Versailles  in  the  Camp  of  Aulis ; 
and  with  the  same  ample  justification.^  The  points  in 
which  Goethe's  work  resembles  the  Greek  are,  first,  the 
slowness  of  its  scenic  movement  and  simplicity  of  its 
action,  which  produce  a  corresponding  calmness  in  the 
dialogue ;  and,  secondly,  a  saturation  with  mythic  lore. 
All  the  rest  is  German.  And  this  Schiller,  as  a  drama- 
tist, clearly  saw.  "  I  am  astonished,"  he  says,  "  to  find 
this  piece  no  longer  makes  the  same  favourable  im- 
pression on  me  that  it  did  formerly;  though  I  still 
recognise  it  as  a  work  full  of  soul.  It  is,  however,  so 
astonishingly  modern  and  un-Greek  that  I  cannot  urir 
der stand  how  it  was  ever  thought  to  resemble  a  Greek 
play.  It  is  purely  moral,  but  the  sensuous  poivcr,  the 
life,  the  agitation,  and  everything  which  specifically  he- 

iThis  error  of  local  colouring,  which  critics  more  erudite  than 
acute  have  ridiculed  in  Racine,  is  not  only  an  error  commanded 
by  the  very  conditions  of  Art,  but  is  the  very  error  committed  by 
the  Greeks  themselves.  In  tiiis  play  of  "Iphigenia,"  Euripides 
has  committed  anachronisms  as  gross  as  any  chargeable  to  Kacine  ; 
and  justly  :  he  wrote  for  the  audience  of  his  day,  he  did  not  write 
for  antiquity 


380  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

longs  to  a  dramatic  work,  is  wanting.  Goethe  has 
himself  spoken  slightingly  of  it,  hut  I  took  that  as  a 
mere  caprice  or  coquetry ;  now  I  understand  him." 

Schiller  adds,  however,  that  apart  from  the  dramatic 
form,  "  Iphigenia  "  is  a  marvellous  production,  which 
must  for  ever  remain  the  delight  and  wonderment  of 
mankind.  This  is  striking  the  right  chord.  A  drama 
it  is  not ;  it  is  a  marvellous  dramatic  poem.  The 
grand  and  solemn  movement  of  its  evolution  responds 
to  the  large  and  simple  ideas  which  it  unfolds.  It  has 
the  calmness  of  majesty.  In  the  limpid  clearness  of  its 
language  the  involved  mental  processes  of  the  characters 
are  as  transparent  as  the  operations  of  bees  within  a 
crystal  hive ;  while  a  constant  strain  of  high  and  lofty 
music  makes  the  reader  feel  as  if  in  a  holy  temple. 
And  above  all  witcheries  of  detail,  there  is  the  one 
capital  witchery,  belonging  to  Greek  statues  more  than 
to  any  other  works  of  human  cunning  —  the  perfect 
unity  of  impression  produced  by  the  whole,  so  that 
nothing  in  it  seems  made,  but  all  to  groiv  ;  nothing  is 
superfluous,  but  all  is  in  organic  dependence ;  nothing 
is  there  for  detached  effect,  but  the  whole  is  effect. 
The  poem  fills  the  mind;  beautiful  as  the  separate 
passages  are,  admirers  seldom  think  of  passages,  they 
think  of  the  wondrous  whole. 

I  cannot  in  language  less  than  hyperbolical  express 
my  admiration  for  this  work  considered  in  itself ;  as  a 
drama,  I  think  an  instructive  parallel  might  be  drawn 
between  it  and  the  "  Iphigenia "  of  Euripides.  The 
enormous  superiority  of  Goethe  in  intellectual  stature, 
even  aided  by  the  immeasurable  advantage  he  has  of 
writing  in  a  language  which  is  in  some  sort  our  own, 
would  not  cover  his  inferiority  as  a  dramatist. 

In  Euripides  we  have  this  groundwork  :  Iphigenia, 
about  to  be  sacrificed  at  Aulis,  was  snatched  away  in 
a  cloud  by  Diana,  and  a  hind  substituted  in  her  place  ; 
she  is  now  priestess  of  Diana  in  Tauris,  where  she 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  381 

presides  over  the  bloody  sacrifice  of  every  stranger 
thrown  on  the  inhospitable  shores.  Orestes  and  Py- 
lades,  in  obedience  to  the  Oracle,  come  to  Tauris  intent 
on  bearing  away  the  Image  of  Diana:  that  accom- 
phshed,  Orestes  is  to  be  released  from  the  Furies  who 
pursue  him.  The  two  are  seized,  and  brought  to  Iphi- 
genia  for  sacrifice.  A  recognition  takes  place  ;  and  she 
aids  them  in  their  original  design  of  carrying  away  the 
goddess.  They  are  pursued  by  the  Scythians,  but  Min- 
erva appears,  to  cut  the  knot  and  calm  the  rage  of  Thoas. 

This  story  Goethe  has  modernised.  The  characters 
are  essentially  different,  the  moral  elements  are  differ- 
ent, and  the  effect  is  different.  His  Iphigenia,  every 
way  superior  to  the  Greek  priestess,  has  the  high,  noble, 
tender,  delicate  soul  of  a  Christian  maiden.  Forced  to 
fulfil  the  duties  of  a  Priestess,  she  subdues  by  her  mild 
influence  the  fierce  prejudice  of  Thoas,  and  makes  him 
discontinue  the  barbarous  practice  of  human  sacrifices. 
She,  who  herself  had  been  anointed  as  a  sacrifice,  could 
she  preside  over  the  sacrifice  of  another?  This  sym- 
pathy is  modern.  No  Greek  would  have  suffered  her 
own  personal  feelings  thus  to  rise  up  in  rebellion  against 
a  rehgious  rite.  The  key-note  is  struck  here,  and  this 
tone  sounds  through  the  whole  piece. 

Iphigenia  is  melancholy,  and  pines  for  her  native 
shores,  in  spite  of  the  honour  which  attends,  and  the 
good  she  effects  by  her  influence  on  Thoas.  The  fate 
of  her  family  perturbs  her.  Thoas  has  conceived  a 
passion  for  her. 

"  Thou  sharedst  my  sorrow  when  a  hostile  sword 
Tore  from  my  side  my  hist,  my  dearest  son  ; 
Long  as  fierce  vengeance  occupied  my  heart, 
I  did  not  feel  my  dwelling's  dreary  void  : 
But  now,  returning  home,  my  rage  appeased, 
My  foes  defeated,  and  my  son  avenged, 
I  find  there's  nothing  left  to  comfort  me."  ^ 

1  In  all  extracts  from  this  work  I  avail  myself  of  the  translation 
by  Miss  Swauwick   (''Selections  from  Goethe   and   Schiller"), 


382  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

And  he  expresses  a  hope  to  "  bear  her  to  his  dwelling 
as  a  bride,"  which  she  gently  evades;  he  then  taxes 
her  with  the  mystery  in  which  she  has  shrouded  her- 
self.    She  answers : 

"  If  I  concealed,  O  king,  my  name  and  race, 
'Twas  fear  which  prompted  me,  and  not  mistrust ; 
For  didst  thou  know  who  stands  before  thee  now. 
And  what  accursed  head  thy  arm  protects, 
A  shuddering  liorror  would  possess  thy  heart; 
And,  far  from  wishing  me  to  share  thy  throne, 
Wouldst  banish  me  perchance." 

Thoas  replies,  with  generosity,  that  nothing  shall  make 
him  cease  his  protection. 

"  In  my  hands 
The  goddess  placed  thee ;  thou  hast  been  to  me 
As  sacred  as  to  her,  and  her  behest 
Shall  for  the  future  also  be  my  law. 
If  thou  canst  hope  in  safety  to  return 
Back  to  thy  kindred,  I  renounce  my  claims." 

This  promise  becomes  an  important  agent  in  the 
denouement,  and  is  skilfully  contrived.  Iphigenia, 
urged  by  him  to  speak  out,  utters  this  tremendous 
line: 

«  Know  :  I  issue  from  the  race  of  Tantalus  !  "  ^ 

Thoas  is  staggered ;  but  after  she  has  narrated  the 
story  of   her  race,  he  repeats  his  offer  of    marriage, 

which  is  many  degrees  superior  to  that  of  tlie  late  William  Taylor 
("  Survey  of  German  Poetry,"  vol.  iii.).  Feeling,  as  I  profoundly 
feel,  the  in.superable  difficulties  of  translating  Goethe  into  English, 
it  would  ill  become  me  to  criticise  Miss  Swanwick's  version  ;  but 
it  would  also  be  very  unjust  not  to  add,  that  all  versions  miss  the 
exquisite  beauty  of  the  original,  and  resemble  it  no  more  than  a 
rough  woodcut  resembles  a  Titian. 

1 "  Vernimm  :  ich  bin  aus  Tantalus  GeschlechV 

Miss  Swanwick,  from  metrical   necessity,  has  weakened  this 
into : 

"  Attend  :  I  issue  from  the  Titan's  race." 

It  wa.s  indispensable  to  preserve  the  name  of  Tantalus,  so  preg- 
nant with  terrible  sugge.stion. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  383 

which  she  will  not  accept.     Irritated  by  her  refusal, 
he  exclaims  : 

"  Be  priestess  still 

Of  the  great  goddess  who  selected  thee  ; 

And  may  she  pardon  me  that  I  from  her 

Unjustly,  and  with  secret  self-reproach, 

Her  ancient  sacrifice  so  long  withheld. 

From  olden  times  no  stranger  near'd  our  shore 

But  fell  a  victim  at  her  sacred  shrine ; 

But  thou  with  kind  affection  didst  enthral  me 

That  I  forgot  my  duty.     Thou  didst  rock 

My  senses  in  a  dream  :  I  did  not  hear 

My  people's  murmurs  :  now  they  cry  aloud. 

Ascribing  my  poor  son's  untimely  death 

To  this  my  guilt.     No  longer  for  thy  sake 

Will  I  oppose  the  wishes  of  the  crowd 

"Who  urgently  demand  the  sacrifice. 

Two  strangers,  whom  in  caverns  of  the  shore 
We  found  concealed,  and  whose  arrival  here 
Bodes  to  my  realm  no  good,  are  in  my  power : 
With  them  thy  goddess  may  once  more  resume 
Her  ancient,  pious,  long-suspended  rites." 

Thus  ends  the  first  act. 

In  the  conception  of  Thoas  a  great  dramatic  collision 
is  rendered  impossible :  so  high  and  generous  a  nature 
cannot  resist  an  appeal  to  his  generosity ;  and  thus 
the  spectator  foresees  there  will  be  no  struggle.  In 
Euripides,  on  the  contrary,  the  fierce  Scythian  looms 
from  the  dark  background,  terrible  as  fate ;  and  he  is 
artfully  withheld  from  appearing  on  the  scene  until 
the  very  last.  How  he  is  to  be  appeased  no  spectator 
foresees.  To  be  sure,  he  is  appeased  by  a  Dcus  ex 
machina,  and  not  by  a  dramatic  unravelhng  of  the 
entangled  threads  ;  but  this  inferiority  is,  dramatically 
speaking,  more  than  compensated  by  the  effect  of  the 
collision,  and  the  agitation  kept  up  to  the  last.  Thoas 
in  Goethe  is  a  moral,  not  a  dramatic  figure.^ 

iThe  notion  of  making  Tlioas  in  love  is  not  new.  La£;range- 
Chancel,  in  his  "  Oreste  et  Pylade  "  (a  real  treat  to  any  one  with  a 


384  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

The  carelessness  to  all  dramatic  effect  which  weak- 
ens this  play  is  seen  in  the  very  avoidance  of  a  path 
Euripides  had  opened,  viz.,  the  certainty  in  the  mind 
of  the  audience  that  Orestes  and  Pylades  are  the  two 
captives  to  be  slaughtered.  In  Euripides,  Orestes  and 
his  companion  appear  on  the  scene  before  they  are 
made  prisoners ;  in  Goethe,  not  till  after  their  capture 
has  been  announced.  The  effect  of  the  announcement 
in  Euripides  is  powerful,  in  Goethe  it  is  nuU.^ 

In  the  second  act  Orestes  and  Pylades  appear.  The 
scene  between  them  is  very  undramatic,  but  beautiful 
as  a  poetic  exposition  of  their  mental  conditions.  Ores- 
tes feels  — 

"  It  is  the  path  of  death  that  now  we  tread, 
At  every  step  my  soul  grows  more  serene." 

But  Pylades  clings  to  life,  and  to  his  purpose.  "  Am 
I  not,"  he  says,  — 

"  As  ever  full  of  courage  and  of  joy  ? 
And  love  and  courage  are  the  spirit's  wings 
Wafting  to  noble  actions. 

perception  of  the  ludicrous),  has  thrown  as  much  "galanterie" 
into  this  play  as  one  may  find  in  an  opera.  Thoas  loves  Iphig^nie, 
who  loves  Fylade  ;  but  while  the  tyrant  sighs  in  vain,  the  tru- 
culent Scythian  is  sighed  for  by  Thomyris,  princesse  du  sang  royal 
des  Scythes.  As  a  specimen  of  couleur  locale,  I  may  mention  that 
Thoas  in  this  play  has  a  capitaine  des  gardes  and  two  ministres 
d'Uat,  with  an  ambassadeur  Sarmate  resident  at  his  court. 

1  Compare  Eurip.  v.  264,  sq.  There  is  one  touch  in  the  peas- 
ant's narrative  which  is  very  significant  of  that  period  when  gods 
walked  the  earth  so  familiarly  with  man  that  every  stranger  might 
be  taken  for  a  god  : 

"  ivravda  SktctoCis  eld^  tis  veavla^ 
(3oi'0op/3ds  ijiJ.Qi',  (cd7rexwp77(rev  ttclKiv 
dKpoicn  8aKTij\oi<n  iropOfievuv  tx^os. 
e\e^€  5',  oiix  opdre ;   dai/xovh  rivei 
6d(T<rov(Tivoide.^'' 

"There  one  of  our  cowboys  espied  the  two  youths,  and  stepping 
backward  on  the  points  of  his  toes,  retraced  his  steps,  saying,  '  Do 
you  not  see  them  ?  they  are  gods  seated  there.'  " 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  3^5 

Orextes.  Noble  actions? 

Time  was  when  fancy  painted  such  before  us ! 
When  oft,  the  game  pursuing,  on  we  roain'd 
O'er  hill  and  valley  :  hoping  that  ere  long, 
With  club  and  weapon  arni'd,  we  so  might  chase 
The  track  of  robber  or  of  monster  huge. 
And  then  at  twilight,  by  the  glassy  sea. 
We  peaceful  sat  reclined  against  each  other ; 
The  waves  came  dancing  to  our  very  feet, 
And  all  before  us  lay  the  wide,  wide  world. 
Then  on  a  sudden  one  would  seize  his  sword, 
And  future  deeds  shone  round  us  like  the  stars 
Which  gemm'd  in  countless  throngs  the  vault  of  night. 

Pylades.    Endless,  my  friend,  the  projects  which  the  soul 
Burns  to  accomplish.     We  would  every  deed 
Perform  at  once  as  grandly  as  it  shows 
After  long  ages,  when  from  land  to  land 
The  poet's  swelling  song  hath  rolled  it  on. 
It  sounds  so  lovely  what  our  fathers  did. 
When  in  the  silent  evening  shade  reclined, 
We  drink  it  in  with  music's  melting  tones. 
And  what  we  do,  is  as  it  was  to  them 
Toilsome  and  incomplete." 

Pylades  fails  to  inspire  him,  however,  with  the  resolu- 
tion which  he  feels,  and  with  belief  in  the  probability 
of  their  escape  from  the  shameful  death,  which  Orestes 
accepts  so  calmly.  Pylades  has  heard  from  tlie  guards 
the  character  of  Iphigeuia ;  and  congi'atulates  himself 
on  the  fact  that  it  is  a  woman  who  holds  their  fates 
in  her  hands,  for  even  the  best  of  men  — 

«' With  horror  may  familiarise  his  mind  ; 
Through  custom  so  transform  his  character, 
That  he  at  length  shall  make  himself  a  law 
Of  what  his  very  soul  at  first  abhorred." 

On  some  not  very  intelligible  pretext  he  makes  Ores- 
tes withdraw,  that  he  may  have  an  interview  with 
Iphigenia ;  and  as  she  approaches,  unbinds  his  chains, 
and  speaks,  he  adroitly  bursts  forth  into  these  words  •. 


386  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

"  Delicious  music  !  dearly  welcome  tones 
Of  our  own  language  in  a  foreign  land ! 
With  joy  my  captive  eye  once  more  beholds 
The  azure  mountains  of  my  native  coast."  ^ 

He  then  tells  her  a  story  something  like  the  real  one, 
but  disguising  names :  the  purpose  of  which  I  do  not 
detect.  She  inquires  after  her  family,  and  hears  the 
story  of  her  mother's  guilt.  Noting  her  agitation,  he 
asks  if  she  be  connected  with  that  family  by  friend- 
ship.    She  sternly  replies : 

"  Say  on :  and  tell  me  how  the  deed  was  done." 

He  tells  her.  All  she  says  is  a  few  brief  words,  which 
are  terribly  significant:  when  he  concludes,  she  veils 
herself,  and  withdraws  saying  : 

"  Enough  :  thou  soon  wilt  see  me  once  again." 

And  the  act  ends  in  this  very  evasive  manner.  The 
third  act  opens  with  the  visit  of  Iphigenia  to  Orestes, 
in  which  she  requests  him  to  finish  the  story  that 
Pylades  had  already  half  told;  and  he  does  so  at 
some  length.  Disdaining  the  guile  which  had  prompted 
Pylades  to  conceal  their  names,  he  boldly  says : 

"  I  am  Orestes  !  " 

Here  is  a  proper  dvayvwpio-is,  —  and  naturally,  no  less 
than  dramatically,  it  demands  a  cry  from  the  heart  of 
Iphigenia,  who  should  at  once  fling  herself  into  her 

iM.  Patin  has,  I  think,  mistaken  the  import  of  this  speech  : 
comparing  it  with  the  shuple  exclamation  of  Philoctetes,  he  says, 
"  Philoctfete  u'en  savait  pas  tant,  il  n'^tait  pas  si  habile  h.  se 
rendre  compte  de  ses  secrets  mouvements :  tout  ce  qu'il  pouvait 
(^tait  de  s'^crier,  '  O  douce  parole  ! '  "  —Etudes  sur  les  Tragiques 
Grecs,  ill.  p.  323.  But  Pylades  is  not  expressing  his  sentiments. 
His  ear  is  not  unfamiliar  with  the  accents  of  his  own  language  — 
he  has  just  before  heard  them  from  Orestes  :  but  by  picturing 
Greece  to  her,  he  adroitly  excites  her  sympathy  for  himself,  a 
Greek. 


LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE  387 

brother's  arms,  and  confess  their  relationship.  Instead 
of  this,  she  suffers  him  to  continue  talking,  and  to 
withdraw ;  she  only  reveals  herself  in  the  next  scene ! 
This  is  more  like  the  dramatic  treatment  we  find  in 
juvenile  writers,  than  what  is  expected  from  a  great 
poet.  Orestes  has  a  return  of  his  madness.  He 
recovers  from  it,  to  feel  himself  purified  by  his  sister's 
purity ;  and  Pylades  now  suggests  that  they  shall  bear 
away  the  image,  and  depart  together. 

It  is  evident  that  the  tragic  situation  in  this  story  is 
the  slaughter  of  a  brother  by  a  sister  ignorant  of  a 
relationship  perfectly  known  to  the  audience.  So  far 
from  having  developed  the  tragedy  of  such  a  situation, 
Goethe  has  scarcely  touched  upon  it,  and  never  once 
awakened  our  fears:  from  first  to  last  we  are  in 
no  suspense,  our  fears  are  untouched,  our  curiosity 
alone  is  excited  to  watch  the  process  by  which  the 
terrible  fate  will  be  escaped.  In  Euripides,  on  the 
contrary,  everything  conspires  to  increase  the  terror  of 
the  situation.  Iphigenia,  formerly  so  mild  that  she 
wept  with  her  victims,  now  rages  like  a  lioness  be- 
reaved of  her  cubs.  She  has  dreamed  that  Orestes  is 
dead,  and  in  her  desolate  condition  resolves  to  wreak 
her  woe  on  others.  Her  brother  and  his  friend  are 
brought  before  her.  She  questions  them  as  to  their 
names.  Orestes  refuses  to  tell  her.  In  a  rapid  inter- 
change of  questions  and  answers  she  learns  the  story 
of  her  family ;  and  then  offers  to  save  one  of  their 
lives  on  condition  that  the  pardoned  carry  for  her  a 
letter  to  Argos.  Here  a  contest  of  generosity  ensues, 
as  to  who  shall  accept  his  life.  Pylades  is  at  length 
prevailed  upon.  The  discovery  is  thus  managed; 
Pylades,  bound  by  his  oath  to  deliver  the  letter,  sug- 
gests this  difficulty,  viz.,  that  should  the  boat  be  upset, 
or  should  the  letter  be  lost,  how  then  can  he  fulfil  his 
promise  ?  Hereupon,  to  anticipate  such  an  accident, 
Iphigenia  tells  him  the  contents  of  the  letter ;  and  in 


388  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

telling  him  reveals  her  name.  This  produces  the  nat- 
ural cry  from  Orestes,  who  avows  himself,  and  clasps 
her  in  his  arms.  The  dramatic  movement  of  this  scene 
is  admirable.  From  this  point  the  interest  slackens 
in  Euripides,  in  Goethe  it  deepens.  In  the  Greek  play 
it  is  the  culmination  of  passionate  interest ;  for  although 
the  stratagem  by  which  Iphigenia  contrives  to  bear 
away  the  sacred  image  would  flatter  the  propensities  of 
the  cunning  Athenian  audience,  ^  it  must  have  been, 
even  to  them,  a  delight  altogether  of  a  lower  kind, 
addressing  lower  faculties,  than  those  addressed  by  the 
tragic  processional  grandeur  of  the  earher  portions ; 
whereas  in  the  German  play,  the  hitherto  feeble  pas- 
sionate interest  now  rises  in  an  ascending  scale  of  high 
moral  interest,  so  that  the  tragedy  evolved  addresses 
the  conscience  rather  than  the  emotions,  being  less  the 
conflict  of  passions  than  the  high  conflict  with  duty. 

In  the  fourth  act  Iphigenia  has  to  save  more  than 
her  brother's  life ;  she  has  to  save  him  from  the  Furies  ; 
this  is  only  to  be  done  by  deceit,  inasmuch  as  force  is 
impossible  under  the  circumstances.  To  a  Greek  mind 
nothing  could  be  more  satisfactory.  The  Greek  pre- 
ferred deceit  to  force  ;  but  the  Christianised  conscience 
revolts  from  deceit  as  cowardly  and  deeply  immoral. 
Accordingly,  Iphigenia  shudders  at  the  falsehood  which 
is  forced  upon  her,  and  only  requires  to  be  reminded 
by  the  king's  messenger  of  the  constant  kindness  and 


1  Comp.  Euripides,  v.  1157,  sq.  Ipliigenia  pretends  that  as  the 
image  of  the  goddess  has  been  stained  by  the  impure  hands  of 
the  two  captives,  it  must  be  purified,  and  for  tliis  purpose  she 
intends  to  cleanse  it  in  the  sea,  but  that  must  be  done  in  solitude. 
She  then  bids  Thoas  command  that  every  citizen  shall  remain 
vyithin  doors,  carefully  avoiding  a  sight  of  that  which  may  pol- 
lute them  —  /jLva-apa  yap  to.  Tom6'  iaTi :  —  nay  more,  with  an  inge- 
nuity which  is  almost  farcical,  she  bids  Thoas  himself  remain 
within  the  Temple,  throwing  a  veil  over  his  eyes  as  the  captives 
issue  forth  ;  he  is  not  to  consider  it  at  all  singular  if  she  is  a  long 
while  absent.  In  this  way  she  contrives  to  escape  with  the  image, 
having  made  fools  of  Thoas  and  his  guards. 


LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE  389 

considerateness  with  which  Thoas  has  treated  her,  to 
make  her  pause.  When,  therefore,  Pylades  arrives, 
urging  her  to  flight,  she  communicates  to  him  her 
scruples. 

"  Pylades.     Him   thou  dost  fly  who  would  have  slain    thy 
brother. 

Iphig.     To  me  at  least  he  hath  been  ever  kind. 

Pylades.     What  fate  commands  is  not  ingratitude. 

Iphig.     Alas  !  it  still  remains  ingratitude  — 
Necessity  alone  can  justify  it. 

Pylades.     Thee  before  gods  and  men  it  justifies. 

Iphig.     But  my  own  heart  is  still  unsatisfied. 

Pylades.     Scruples  too  rigid  are  a  cloak  for  pride. 

Iphig.     I  cannot  argue,  I  can  only  feel." 

How  modern  all  this  is  !    Pylades  with  more  worldly 
views  says: 

"  Life  teaches  us 
To  be  less  strict  with  others  than  ourselves  ; 
Thou'lt  learn  the  lesson  too.     So  wonderful 
Is  human  nature,  and  its  varied  ties 
Are  so  involved  and  complicate,  that  none 
May  hope  to  keep  his  inmost  spirit  pure, 
And  walk  without  perplexity  thro'  life." 

Here,  then,  lies  the  tragedy.  Will  this  soul  behe  its 
own  high  instincts,  even  for  the  sake  of  saving  her 
brother  ?  The  alternative  is  horrible ;  and  after  por- 
traying the  temptation  in  all  its  force,  and  human 
frailty  in  all  its  tenderness,  the  poet  shows  us  human 
grandeur  in  this  fine  burst  from  the  unhappy  priestess : 

"  Attend,  O  king  ! 
A  secret  plot  is  laid ;  'tis  vain  to  ask 
Touching  the  captives ;   they  are  gone,  and  seek 
Their  comrades,  who  await  them  on  the  shore. 
The  eldest  —  he  whom  madness  lately  seized, 
And  who  is  now  recovered  —  is  Orestes, 
My  brother  !  and  the  other,  Pylades, 
His  early  friend  and  faithful  confidant. 
From  Delphi,  Phoebus  sent  them  to  this  shore 


39©  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

With  a  divine  command  to  steal  away 
The  image  of  Diana,  and  to  him 
Bear  back  the  sister,  promising  for  this 
Redemption  to  the  blood-stained  matricide. 
I  have  delivered  now  into  thy  hands 
The  remnants  of  the  house  of  Tantalus  : 
Destroy  us  —  if  thou  darest !  " 

For  anything  like  this  we  seek  in  vain  throughout 
the  Greek  "  Iphigenia ; "  and  the  mere  grandeur  of  the 
conception  would  produce  an  overpowering  effect  on 
the  stage,  if  delivered  with  adequate  depth  and  dignity. 

Had  Thoas  been  represented  as  a  fierce  Scythian,  or 
even  had  he  not  been  hitherto  allowed  to  convince  us 
of  his  generosity,  the  "  collision "  would  have  been 
stronger ;  as  it  is,  we  have  little  faith  in  his  ferocity. 
He  has  nearly  relented  when  Orestes  rushes  in  with 
drawn  sword  to  hasten  Iphigenia  away,  because  their 
design  has  been  discovered.  A  scene  ensues  in  which 
Thoas  is  resolved  not  to  suffer  the  Image  of  Diana  to 
be  borne  away ;  and  as  to  carry  it  away  is  the  object 
of  Orestes,  it  must  be  decided  by  force  of  arms.  But 
now  a  light  suddenly  breaks  in  upon  Orestes,  who  reads 
the  oracle  in  another  way.     Apollo  said  — 

"  'Back  to  Greece  the  sister  bring, 
Who  in  the  sanctuary  on  Tauris'  shore 
Unwillingly  abides  ;  so  ends  the  curse.' 
To  Phoebus'  sister  we  applied  the  words, 
And  he  referred  to  thee.'" 

It  was  Iphigenia  who  was  to  purify  him,  and  to  bear 
her  away  is  to  fulfil  Apollo's  orders.  This  interpreta- 
tion loosens  the  knot.  Iphigenia  recalls  to  Thoas  his 
promise  that  she  should  depart  if  ever  she  could  return 
in  safety  to  her  kindred,  and  he  reluctantly  says, 
"  Then  go  ! "  to  which  she  answers : 

"  Not  so,  my  king ;  I  cannot  part 
Without  thy  blessing,  or  in  anger  from  thee. 
Banish  us  not  I  the  sacred  right  of  guests 


LIFE   AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHB  391 

Still  let  us  claim  :  so  not  eternally 

Shall  we  be  severed.     Honour'd  and  belov'd, 

As  my  own  father  was,  art  thou  by  me  : 

Farewell  !   Oh  !  do  not  turn  away,  but  give 

One  kindly  word  of  parting  in  return. 

So  shall  the  wind  more  gently  swell  our  sails, 

And  from  our  eyes  with  softened  angui&li  flow 

The  tears  of  separation.     Fare  thee  well  ! 

And  graciously  extend  to  me  thy  hand 

In  pledge  of  ancient  friendship. 

Thoas  {extending  his  hand).     Fare  thee  well." 

This  is  a  very  touching,  noble  close,  and  is  in  exquisite 
harmony  with  the  whole. 

The  remarks  on  this  masterpiece  have  already  occu- 
pied so  much  space  that  I  could  not,  were  I  disposed, 
pause  to  examine  the  various  collateral  points  of  criti- 
cism which  have  been  raised  in  Germany.  I  will 
merely  allude  to  the  characteristic  difference  between 
Ancient  and  Modern  Art  exhibited  in  the  treatment  of 
the  Furies,  which  in  Euripides  are  terrible  Apparitions, 
real  beings  personated  by  actors;  in  Goethe  they  are 
Phantasms  moving  across  the  stage  of  an  unhappy  soul, 
but  visible  only  to  the  inward  eye ;  in  like  manner  the 
Greek  denouement  is  the  work  of  the  actual  interfer- 
ence of  the  goddess  in  person,  whereas  the  German 
denouement  is  a  loosening  of  the  knot  by  deeper 
insight  into  the  meaning  of  the  oracle. 


CHAPTER   III. 

PROGRESS. 

In  the  beginning  of  1779  we  tind  Goethe  very  active 
in  his  new  official  duties.  He  has  accepted  the  direc- 
tion of  the  War  Department,  which  suddenly  assumes 
new  importance,  owing  to  the  preparations  for  a  war. 
He  is  constantly  riding  about  the  country,  and  doing 
his  utmost  to  alleviate  the  condition  of  the  people. 
"  Misery,"  he  says,  "  becomes  as  prosaic  and  familiar 
to  me  as  my  own  hearth,  but  nevertheless  I  do  not  let 
go  my  idea,  and  will  wrestle  with  the  unknown  Angel, 
even  should  I  halt  upon  my  thigh.  No  man  knows 
what  I  do,  and  with  how  many  foes  I  fight  to  bring 
forth  a  little." 

Among  his  undertakings  may  be  noted  an  organisa- 
tion of  Firemen,  then  greatly  wanted.  Fires  were  not 
only  numerous,  but  were  rendered  terrible  by  the  want 
of  any  systematic  service  to  subdue  them.  Goethe, 
who  in  Frankfort  had  rushed  into  the  bewildered 
crowd,  and  astonished  spectators  by  his  rapid,  peremp- 
tory disposition  of  their  efforts  into  a  system  —  who 
in  Apolda  and  Ettersburg  lent  aid  and  command,  till 
his  eyebrows  were  singed  and  his  feet  were  burned  — 
naturally  took  it  much  to  heart  that  no  regular  service 
was  supplied ;  and  he  persuaded  the  duke  to  institute 
one. 

On  this  (his  thirtieth)  birthday  the  duke,  recognising 
his  official  services,  raised  him  to  the  place  of  Geheim- 
rath.  "  It  is  strange  and  dreamlike,"  writes  the  Frank- 
fort burgher  in  his  new-made  honour,  "  that  I  in  my 

392 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  393 

thirtieth  year  enter  the  highest  place  which  a  German 
citizen  can  reach.  On  ne  va  jamais  plus  loin  que  qnand 
on  ne  sail  oil  Von  va,  said  a  great  climber  of  this  world." 
If  he  thought  it  strange,  Weimar  thought  it  scandal- 
ous. "  The  hatred  of  people  here,"  writes  Wieland, 
"  against  our  Goethe,  who  has  done  no  one  any  harm, 
has  grown  to  such  a  pitch  since  he  has  been  made 
Geheinirath,  that  it  borders  on  fury."  But  the  duke, 
if  he  heard  these  howls,  paid  no  attention  to  them. 
He  was  more  than  ever  with  his  friend.  They  started 
on  the  12th  of  September  on  a  little  journey  into 
Switzerland,  in  the  strictest  incognito,  and  with  the 
lightest  of  travelhng  trunks.  They  touched  at  Frank- 
fort, and  stayed  in  the  old  house  in  the  Hirschgraben, 
where  Rath  Goethe  had  the  pride  of  receiving  not  only 
his  son  as  Geheimrath,  but  the  prince,  his  friend  and 
master.  Goethe's  mother  was,  as  may  be  imagined,  in 
high  spirits  —  motherly  pride  and  housewifely  pride 
being  equally  stimulated  by  the  presence  of  such 
guests. 

From  Frankfort  they  went  to  Strasburg.  There  the 
recollection  of  Frederika  irresistibly  drew  him  to  Sesen- 
heim.  In  his  letter  to  the  Frau  von  Stein  he  says: 
"  On  the  25th  I  rode  toward  Sesenheim,  and  there 
found  the  family  as  I  had  left  it  eight  years  ago.  I 
was  welcomed  in  the  most  friendly  manner.  The 
second  daughter  loved  me  in  those  days  better  than 
I  deserved,  and  more  than  others  to  whom  I  have 
given  so  much  passion  and  faith.  I  was  forced  to 
leave  her  at  a  moment  when  it  nearly  cost  her  her 
life;  she  passed  lightly  over  that  episode  to  tell  me 
what  traces  still  remained  of  the  old  illness,  and 
behaved  with  such  exquisite  delicacy  and  generosity 
from  the  moment  that  I  stood  before  her  unexpected 
on  the  threshold  that  I  felt  quite  reheved.  I  mu.st  do 
her  the  justice  to  say  that  she  made  not  the  slightest 
attempt  to  rekindle  in  my  bosom  the  cinders  of  love. 


394  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

She  led  me  into  the  arbour,  and  there  we  sat  down. 
It  was  a  lovely  moonhght,  and  I  inquired  after  every 
one  and  everything.  Neighbours  had  spoken  of  me 
not  a  week  ago.  I  found  old  songs  which  I  had  com- 
posed, and  a  carriage  I  had  painted.  We  recalled 
many  a  pastime  of  those  happy  days,  and  I  found 
myself  as  vividly  conscious  of  all,  as  if  I  had  been 
away  only  six  months.  The  old  people  were  frank 
and  hearty,  and  thought  me  looking  younger.  I  stayed 
the  night  there,  and  departed  at  dawn,  leaving  behind 
me  friendly  faces ;  so  that  I  can  now  think  once  more 
of  this  corner  of  the  world  with  comfort,  and  know 
that  they  are  at  peace  with  me." 

There  is  something  very  touching  in  this  interview, 
and  in  his  narrative  of  it,  forwarded  to  the  woman  he 
noiv  loves,  and  who  does  not  repay  him  with  a  love 
like  that  which  he  believes  he  has  inspired  in  Frede- 
rika.  He  finds  this  charming  girl  still  unmarried,  and 
probably  is  not  a  little  flattered  at  the  thought  that 
she  still  cherishes  his  image  to  the  exclusion  of  every 
other.  She  tells  him  of  Lenz  having  fallen  in  love 
with  her,  and  is  silent  respecting  her  own  share  of  that 
little  episode ;  a  silence  which  all  can  understand  and 
few  will  judge  harshly :  the  more  so  as  her  feelings 
toward  Lenz  were  at  that  time  doubtless  far  from 
tender.  Besides,  apart  from  the  romance  of  meeting 
with  an  old  lover,  there  was  the  pride  and  charm  of 
thinking  what  a  world-renowned  name  her  lover  had 
achieved.  It  was  no  slight  thing  even  to  have  been 
jilted  by  such  a  man ;  and  she  must  have  felt  that  he 
had  not  behaved  to  her  otherwise  than  was  to  have 
been  expected  under  the  circumstances. 

On  the  26th  Goethe  rejoined  his  party,  and  "in 
the  afternoon  I  called  on  Lili,  and  found  the  lovely 
Grasaffen  ^  with  a  baby  of  seven  weeks  old,  her  mother 

^  Grasaffen,  i.e.,  "green  monkey,"  is  Frankfort  slang  for 
"  budding  miss,"  and  alludes  to  the  old  days  when  he  knew  Lili. 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  395 

standing  by.  There  also  was  I  received  with  admira- 
tion and  pleasure.  I  made  many  inquiries,  and  to  my 
great  deUght  found  the  good  creature  happily  married. 
Her  husband,  from  what  I  could  learn,  seems  a  worthy, 
sensible  fellow,  rich,  well  placed  in  the  world  ;  in  short, 
she  has  everything  she  needs.  He  was  absent.  1 
stayed  dinner.  After  dinner  went  with  the  duke 
to  see  the  cathedral,  and  in  the  evening  saw  Paesiello's 
beautiful  opera,  '  L'Infante  di  Zamora.'  Supped  with 
Lili,  and  went  away  in  the  moonhght.  The  sweet 
emotions  which  accompanied  me  I  cannot  describe." 

From  Strasburg  he  went  to  Emmendingen,  and 
there  visited  his  sister's  grave.  Accompanied  by  such 
thoughts  as  these  three  visits  must  have  called  up,  he 
entered  Switzerland.  His  "  Briefe  aus  der  Schweitz," 
mainly  composed  from  the  letters  to  the  Fran  von 
Stein,  will  inform  the  curious  reader  of  the  effect  these 
scenes  produced  on  him ;  we  cannot  pause  here  in  the 
narrative  to  quote  from  them.  Enough  if  we  mention 
that  in  Ziirich  he  spent  happy  hours  with  Lavater,  in 
communication  of  ideas  and  feelings :  and  that  on  his 
way  home  he  composed  the  httle  opera  of  "  Jery  und 
Biitely,"  full  of  Swiss  inspiration.  In  Stuttgart  the 
duke  took  it  into  his  head  to  visit  the  court,  and  as  no 
presentable  costume  was  ready,  tailors  had  to  be  set 
in  activity  to  furnish  the  tourists  with  the  necessary 
clothes.  They  assisted  at  the  New  Year  festivities 
of  the  Military  Academy,  and  here  for  the  first  time 
Schiller,  then  twenty  years  of  age,  ^vith  the  "  Robbers  " 
in  his  head,  saw  the  author  of  "  Gcitz  "  and  "  Werther." 

It  is  probable  that  among  all  the  figures  thronging 
in  the  hall  and  galleries  on  that  imposing  occasion, 
none  excited  in  the  young  ambitious  student  so  thrill- 
ing an  effect  as  that  of  the  great  poet,  then  in  all  the 
splendour  of  manhood,  in  all  the  lustre  of  an  immense 
renown.  Why  has  no  artist  chosen  this  for  an  histori- 
cal picture?     The  pale,  sickly  young  Schiller,  in  the 


396  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

stiff  military  costume  of  that  day,  with  pigtail  and 
papillotes,  with  a  sword  by  his  side,  and  a  three- 
cornered  hat  under  his  arm,  stepping  forward  to  kiss 
the  coat  of  his  sovereign  duke,  in  grateful  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  three  prizes  awarded  to  him  for  Medi- 
cine, Surgery,  and  Clinical  Science;  conscious  that 
Goethe  was  looking  on,  and  could  know  nothing  of  the 
genius  which  had  gained,  indeed,  trivial  medical  prizes, 
but  had  failed  to  gain  a  prize  for  German  composition. 
This  pale  youth  and  this  splendid  man  were  in  a  few 
years  to  become  noble  rivals,  and  immortal  friends; 
to  strive  with  generous  emulation,  and  the  most 
genuine  delight  in  each  other's  prowess;  presenting 
such  an  exemplar  of  hterary  friendship  as  the  world 
has  seldom  seen.  At  this  moment,  although  Schiller's 
eyes  were  intensely  curious  about  Goethe,  he  was 
to  the  older  poet  nothing  beyond  a  rather  promising 
medical  student. 

Karl  August,  on  their  return  to  Frankfort,  again 
took  up  his  abode  in  the  Goethe  family,  paying  liberal 
attention  to  Frau  Aja's  good  old  Rhine  wine,  and 
privately  sending  her  a  sum  of  money  to  compensate 
for  the  unusual  expenses  of  his  visit.  By  the  13th 
January  he  was  in  Weimar  once  more,  having  spent 
nearly  nine  thousand  dollars  on  the  journey,  including 
purchases  of  works  of  art. 

Both  were  considerably  altered  to  their  advantage. 
In  his  Diary  Goethe  writes :  "  I  feel  daily  that  I  gain 
more  and  more  the  confidence  of  people ;  and  God 
grant  that  I  may  deserve  it,  not  in  the  easy  way,  but 
in  the  way  I  wish.  What  I  endure  from  myself  and 
others  no  one  sees.  The  best  is  the  deep  stillness 
in  which  I  live  vis-d-vis  to  the  world,  and  thus  win 
what  fire  and  sword  cannot  rob  me  of."  He  was 
crystalHsing  slowly ;  slowly  gaining  the  complete  com- 
mand over  himself.  "  I  will  be  lord  over  myself.  No 
one  who  cannot  master  himself  is  worthy  to  rule,  and 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  397 

only  he  can  rule."  But  with  such  a  temperament  this 
mastery  was  not  easy ;  wine  and  women's  tears,  he 
felt,  were  among  his  weaknesses : 

"  Ich  konnte  viel  gliicklicher  seyn, 
Giib's  uur  keiuen  Wein 
Und  keine  Weibertliriinen." 

He  could  not  entirely  free  himself  from  either.  He 
was  a  Rhinelander,  accustomed  from  boyhood  upward 
to  the  stimulus  of  wine ;  he  was  a  poet,  never  free 
from  the  fascinations  of  woman.  But  just  as  he  was 
never  known  to  lose  his  head  with  wine,  so  also  did 
he  never  lose  himself  entirely  to  a  woman :  the  stimu- 
lus never  grew  into  intoxication. 

One  sees  that  his  passion  for  the  Frau  von  Stein 
continues  ;  but  it  is  coohng.  It  was  necessary  for  him 
to  love  some  one,  but  he  was  loving  here  in  vain,  and 
he  begins  to  settle  into  a  calmer  affection.  He  is  also 
at  this  time  thrown  more  and  more  with  Corona 
Schroter ;  and  his  participation  in  the  private  theatri- 
cals is  not  only  an  agreeable  relaxation  from  the  heavy 
pressure  of  ofticial  duties,  but  is  giving  him  materials 
for  "  Wilhelm  Meister,"  now  in  progress.  "  Theatri- 
cals," he  says,  "  remain  among  the  few  things  in  which 
I  still  have  the  pleasure  of  a  child  and  an  artist." 
Herder,  who  had  hitherto  held  somewhat  aloof,  now 
draws  closer  and  closer  to  him,  probably  on  account  of 
the  change  which  is  coming  over  his  way  of  life.  And 
this  intimacy  with  Herder  awakens  in  him  the  desire 
to  see  Lessing ;  the  projected  journey  to  Wolfenbiittel 
is  arrested,  however,  by  the  sad  news  which  now 
arrives  that  the  great  gladiator  is  at  peace :  Lessing 
is  dead. 

Not  without  significance  is  the  fact  that,  coincident 
with  this  change  in  Goethe's  life,  comes  the  passionate 
study  of  Science,  a  study  often  before  taken  up  in 
desultory  impatience,  but  now  commencing  with  that 


398  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

seriousness  which  is  to  project  it  as  an  active  tendency- 
through  the  remainder  of  his  life.  In  an  unpubUshed 
"  Essay  on  Granite,"  written  about  this  period,  he  says : 
"  No  one  acquainted  with  the  charm  which  the  secrets 
of  Nature  have  for  man  will  wonder  that  I  have 
quitted  the  circle  of  observations  in  which  I  have  hith- 
erto been  confined,  and  have  thrown  myself  with 
passionate  delight  into  this  new  circle.  I  stand  in  no 
fear  of  the  reproach  that  it  must  be  a  spirit  of  contra- 
diction which  has  drawn  me  from  the  contemplation 
and  portraiture  of  the  human  heart  to  that  of  Nature. 
For  it  will  be  allowed  that  all  things  are  intimately 
connected,  and  that  the  inquiring  mind  is  unwilling  to 
be  excluded  from  anything  attainable.  And  I  who 
have  known  and  suffered  from  the  perpetual  agitation 
of  feelings  and  opinions  in  myself  and  in  others, 
delight  in  the  sublime  repose  which  is  produced  by 
contact  with  the  great  and  eloquent  silence  of  nature." 
He  was  trying  to  find  a  secure  basis  for  his  aims  ; 
it  was  natural  he  should  seek  a  secure  basis  for  his 
mind  ;  and  with  such  a  mind  that  basis  could  only  be 
found  in  the  study  of  Nature.  If  it  is  true,  as  men  of 
science  sometimes  declare  with  a  sneer,  that  Goethe 
was  a  poet  in  science  (which  does  not  in  the  least 
disprove  the  fact  that  he  was  great  in  science,  and 
made  great  discoveries),  it  is  equally  true  that  he  was 
a  scientific  poet.  In  a  future  chapter  we  shall  have  to 
consider  what  his  position  in  science  truly  is ;  for  the 
present  we  merely  indicate  the  course  of  his  studies. 
Buffon's  wonderful  book,  "  Les  Epoques  de  la  Nature  " 
—  rendered  antiquated  now  by  the  progress  of  geology, 
but  still  attractive  by  its  style  and  noble  thoughts  — 
produced  a  profound  impression  on  him.  In  Buffon, 
as  in  Spinoza,  and  later  on,  in  Geoffrey  St.  Hilaire,  he 
found  a  mode  of  looking  at  Nature  which  thoroughly 
coincided  with  his  own,  gathering  many  details  into  a 
poetic    synthesis.     Saussure,   whom   he   had    seen    at 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  399 

Geneva,  led  him  to  study  mineralogy ;  and  as  his 
official  duties  gave  him  many  occasions  to  mingle  with 
the  miners,  this  study  acquired  a  practical  interest, 
which  soon  grew  into  a  passion  —  much  to  the  disgust 
of  Herder,  who,  with  the  impatience  of  one  who 
thought  books  the  chief  objects  of  interest,  was  con- 
stantly mocking  him  for  "  bothering  himself  about 
stones  and  cabbages."  To  these  studies  must  be  added 
anatomy,  and  in  particular  osteology,  which  in  early 
years  had  also  attracted  him  when  he  attained  knowl- 
edge enough  to  draw  the  heads  of  animals  for  Lavater's 
"  Physiognomy."  He  now  goes  to  Jena  to  study  under 
Loder,  professor  of  anatomy,^  For  these  studies  his 
talent,  or  want  of  talent,  as  a  draughtsman,  had  further 
to  be  cultivated.  To  improve  himself  he  lectures  to 
the  young  men  every  week  on  the  skeleton.  And 
thus,  amid  serious  duties  and  many  distractions  in  the 
shape  of  court  festivities,  balls,  masquerades,  and  the- 
atricals, he  found  time  for  the  prosecution  of  many 
and  various  studies.  He  was  like  Napoleon,  a  giant- 
worker,  and  never  so  happy  as  when  at  work. 

"  Tasso  "  was  conceived  and  begun  (in  prose)  at  this 
time,  and  "  Wilhelm  Meister "  grew  under  his  hands, 
besides  smaller  works.  But  nothing  was  published. 
He  lived  for  himself,  and  the  small  circle  of  friends. 
The  public  was  never  thought  of.  Indeed,  the  public 
was  then  jubilant  in  beer-houses,  and  scandalised  in 
salons,  at  the  appearance  of  the  "  Robbers  ; "  and  a 
certain  Kiittner,  in  publishing  his  "  Characters  of  Ger- 
man Poets  and  Prose  Writers"  (1781),  could  com- 
placently declare  that  the  shouts  of  praise  which 
intoxicated  admirers  had  once  raised  for  Goethe  were 
now  no  longer  heard.  Meanwhile  "  Egmont "  was  in 
progress,  and  assuming  a  far  different  tone  from  that 
in  which  it  was  originated. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  follow  closely  all  the  details, 
1  Comp.  "  Brief,  zwischen  Kaa-1  August  und  Goethe,"  i.  25,  20. 


400  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

which  letters   abundantly  furnish,  of  his  life  at  this 
period.     They  will  not  help  us  to  a  nearer  understand- 
ing of  the  man,  and  they  would  occupy  much  space. 
"What  we  observe  in  them  all  is,  a  slow  advance  to 
a  more  serious  and  decisive  plan  of  existence.     On  the 
27th  of  May  his  father  dies.     On  the   1st  of  June 
he  comes  to  live  in  the  town  of  Weimar,  as  more  con- 
sonant with  his  position  and  avocations.     The  Duchess 
Amalia  has  promised  to  give  him  a  part  of  the  neces- 
sary furniture.     He  quits  his  Gartenhaus  with  regret, 
but  makes  it  still  his  retreat  for  happy  hours.     Shortly 
afterward  the  Duchess  Amalia  demonstrates  to  him  at 
great  length  the  necessity  of  his  being  ennobled  ;  the 
duke,  according  to  Duntzer,  not  having  dared  to  break 
the  subject  to  him.     In  fact,  since  he  had  been  for  six 
years  at  court  without  a  patent  of  nobility,  he  may 
perhaps  have  felt  the  "  necessity  "  as  somewhat  insult- 
ing.    Nevertheless,  I  cannot  but  think  that  the  Frank- 
fort citizen  soon  became  reconciled  to  the  von  before 
his  name  ;  the  more  so  as  he  was  never  remarkal)le  for 
a  contempt  of  worldly  rank.     Immediately  afterward 
the  President  of  the  Kammer,  Von  Kalb,  was  suddenly 
dismissed  from  his  post,  and  Goethe  was  the  substitute, 
at  first  merely  occupying  the  post  ad  interim  ;  but  not 
relinquishing  his  place  in  the  Privy  Council. 
.    More  important  to  us  is  the  relation  in  which  he 
stands  to  Karl  August  and  the  Frau  von  Stein.     Who- 
ever reads  with  proper  attention  the  letters  published 
in   the    Stein    correspondence    will   become    aware   of 
a    notable    change   in    their  relation  about  this  time 
(1781-82).     The  tone,  which  had  grown  calmer,  now 
rises  again  into  passionate  fervour,  and  every  note  re- 
veals the  happy  lover.     From  the  absence  of  her  letters, 
and  other  evidence,  it  is  impossible  to  assign  the  cause 
of  this  change  with  any  certainty.     It  may  have  been 
that  Corona  Schroter  made  her  jealous.     It  may  have 
been  that  she  feared  to  lose  him.     One  is  inclined  to 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE  401 

suspect  her  of  some  questionable  motive,  because  it  is 
clear  that  her  conduct  to  him  was  not  straightforward 
in  the  beginning,  and,  as  we  shall  see,  became  ungen- 
erous toward  the  close.  Whatever  the  motive,  the  fact 
is  indubitable.  In  his  letters  may  be  })lainly  seen  the 
extraordinary  fascination  she  exercised  over  him,  the 
deep  and  constant  devotion  he  gave  her,  the  thorough 
identification  of  her  with  all  his  thoughts  and  aims.  A 
sentence  or  two  must  suffice  here :  "  O  thou  best 
beloved  !  I  have  had  all  my  hfe  an  ideal  wish  of 
how  I  would  be  loved,  and  have  sought  in  vain  its 
realisation  in  vanishing  dreams;  and  now,  when  the 
world  daily  becomes  clearer  to  me,  I  (ind  this  realisa- 
tion in  thee,  and  in  a  way  which  can  never  be  lost." 
Again :  "  Dearest,  what  do  I  not  owe  thee  ?  If  thou 
didst  not  also  love  me  so  entirely,  if  thou  only  hadst 
me  as  a  friend  among  others,  I  should  still  be  bound  to 
dedicate  my  whole  existence  to  thee.  For  could  I 
ever  have  renounced  my  errors  without  thy  aid  ? 
When  could  I  have  looked  so  clearly  at  the  world, 
and  found  myself  so  happy  in  it,  before  this  time  when 
I  have  nothing  more  to  seek  in  it  ? "  And  this  :  "  As 
a  sweet  melody  raises  us  to  heaven,  so  is  to  me  thy 
being  and  thy  love.  I  move  among  friends  and 
acquaintances  everywhere  as  if  seeking  thee;  I  find 
thee  not,  and  return  into  my  solitude." 

While  he  was  thus  happy,  thus  settling  down  into 
clearness,  the  young  duke,  not  yet  having  worked 
through  the  turbulence  of  youth,  was  often  in  discord 
with  him.  In  the  published  correspondence  may  be 
read  confirmation  of  what  I  have  elsewhere  learned, 
namely,  that  although  during  their  first  years  of  inti- 
macy the  poet  stood  on  no  etiquette  in  private  with  his 
sovereign,  and  although  to  the  last  Karl  August  con- 
tinued the  brotherly  thou,  and  the  most  affectionate 
familiarity  of  address,  yet  Goethe  soon  began  to  per- 
ceive that  another  tone  was  called  for   on  his  part. 


402  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

His  letters  become  singularly  formal  as  he  grows  older  ; 
at  times  almost  unpleasantly  so.  The  duke  writes  to 
him  as  to  a  friend,  and  he  replies  as  to  a  sovereign. 

Not  that  his  affection  diminished ;  but  as  he  grew 
more  serious,  he  grew  more  attentive  to  decorum.  For 
the  duchess  he  seems  to  have  had  a  tender  admiration, 
something  of  which  may  be  read  in  "Tasso."  Her 
noble,  dignified,  though  somewhat  inexpressive  nature, 
the  greatness  of  her  heart,  and  dehcacy  of  her  mind, 
would  all  the  more  have  touched  him,  because  he  knew 
and  could  sympathise  with  what  was  not  perfectly 
happy  in  her  life.  He  was  often  the  pained  witness  of 
little  domestic  disagreements,  and  had  to  remonstrate 
with  the  duke  on  his  occasional  roughness. 

From  the  letters  to  the  Frau  von  Stein  we  gather 
that  Goethe  was  gradually  becoming  impatient  with  Karl 
August,  whose  excellent  quahties  he  cherishes  while 
deploring  his  extravagances.  "  Enthusiastic  as  he  is 
for  what  is  good  and  right,  he  has,  notwithstanding, 
less  pleasure  in  it  than  in  what  is  improper  ;  it  is  won- 
derful how  reasonable  he  can  be,  what  insight  he  has, 
how  much  he  knows ;  and  yet  when  he  sets  about  any- 
thing good,  he  must  needs  begin  with  something 
foolish.  Unhappily,  one  sees  it  lies  deep  in  his  nature, 
and  that  the  frog  is  made  for  the  water  even  when  he 
has  lived  some  time  on  land."  In  the  following  we 
see  that  the  "  servile  courtier "  not  only  remonstrates 
with  the  duke,  but  refuses  to  accompany  him  on  his 
journey,  having  on  a  previous  journey  been  irritated 
by  his  manners.  "  Here  is  an  epistle.  If  you  think 
right,  send  it  to  the  duke,  speak  to  him,  and  do  not 
spare  him.  I  only  want  quiet  for  myself,  and  for  him 
to  know  with  whom  he  has  to  do.  You  can  tell  him 
also  that  I  have  declared  to  yon  I  tvill  never  travel  with 
him  again.  Do  this  in  your  own  prudent,  gentle  way." 
Accordingly  he  lets  the  duke  go  away  alone ;  but  they 
seem  to  have  come  to  some  understanding  subsequently, 


LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE  403 

and  the  threat  was  not  fultilled.  Two  months  after, 
this  sentence  informs  us  of  the  reconcihation  :  "  I  have 
had  a  long  and  serious  conversation  with  the  duke. 
In  this  world,  my  best  one,  the  dramatic  writer  has  a 
rich  harvest ;  and  the  wise  say,  Judge  no  man  until 
you  have  stood  in  his  place."  Later  on  we  find  him 
complaining  of  the  duke  going  wrong  in  his  endeavours 
to  do  right.  "  God  knows  if  he  will  ever  learn  that 
fireworks  at  midday  produce  no  eflect.  I  don't  like 
always  playing  the  pedagogue  and  bugbear,  and  from 
the  others  he  asks  no  advice,  nor  does  he  ever  tell  them 
of  his  plans."  Here  is  another  glimpse  :  "  The  duchess 
is  as  amiable  as  possible,  the  duke  is  a  good  creature, 
and  one  could  heartily  love  him  if  he  did  not  trouble 
the  intercourse  of  life  by  his  manners,  and  did  not 
make  his  friends  indifferent  as  to  what  befalls  him  by 
his  breakneck  recklessness.  It  is  a  curious  feehug, 
that  of  daily  contemplating  the  possibihty  of  our 
nearest  friends  breaking  their  necks,  arms,  or  legs,  and 
yet  have  grown  quite  callous  to  the  idea ! "  Again : 
"  The  duke  goes  to  Dresden.  He  has  begged  me  to  go 
with  him,  or  at  least  to  follow  him,  but  I  shall  stay 
here.  .  .  .  The  preparations  for  the  Dresden  journey 
are  quite  against  my  taste.  The  duke  arranges  them 
in  his  way,  i.  e.  not  always  the  best,  and  disgusts  one 
after  the  other.  I  am  quite  calm,  for  it  is  not  alter- 
able, and  I  only  rejoice  that  there  is  no  kingdom  for 
which  such  cards  could  be  played  often." 

These  are  little  discordant  tones  which  must  have 
arisen  as  Goethe  grew  more  serious.  The  real  regard 
he  had  for  the  duke  is  not  injured  by  these  occasional 
outbreaks.  "  The  duke,"  he  writes,  "  is  guilty  of  many 
folhes  which  I  willingly  forgive,  remembering  my 
own."  He  knows  that  he  can  at  any  moment  put  his 
horses  to  the  carriage  and  drive  away  from  Weimar, 
and  this  consciousness  of  freedom  makes  him  con- 
tented,   although  he  now  makes  up  his  mind  that  he 


404  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE 

is  destined  by  nature  to  be  an  author  and  nothing  else. 
"  I  have  a  purer  dehght  than  ever,  when  I  have  writ- 
ten something  which  well  expresses  what  I  meant.  .  .  ." 
"  I  am  truly  born  to  be  a  private  man,  and  do  not 
understand  how  fate  has  contrived  to  throw  me  into 
a  ministry  and  into  a  princely  family." 

As  he  grows  clearer  on  the  true  mission  of  his  life, 
he  also  grows  happier.     One  can  imagine  the  strange 
feehngs  with  which  he  would  now  take  up  "  Werther," 
and  for  the  first  time  these  ten  years  read  this  product 
of  his  youth.     He  made  some   alterations  ui  it,  espe- 
cially in  the  relation  of  Albert  to  Lotte ;  and  intro- 
duced the  episode  of  the  peasant  who  commits  suicide 
from    jealousy.      Scholl,    in  his    notes  to  the    "  Stein 
Correspondence,"  1    has     called    attention    to    a    point 
worthy  of  notice,  viz.,  that  Herder,  who  helped  Goethe 
in  the  revision  of  this  work,  had  pointed  out  to  him 
the  very  same  fault  in  its  composition  which  Napoleon 
two  and  twenty  years  later  laid  his  finger  on ;  the  fault, 
namely,  of  making  Werther's  suicide  partly  the  con- 
sequence of  frustrated  ambit^'on  and  partly  of  unrequited 
love  —  a  fault  which,  in  spite  of  Herder  and  Napoleon, 
in   spite  also   of  Goethe's   acquiescence,  I  venture   to 
think  no  fault  at  all,  as  will  be  seen  when  the  inter- 
view with  Napoleon  is  narrated. 

1  Vol.  iii.  p.  268. 


END    OF    VOLUME    I. 


